my life is not that life is not your life, is not
that thing you laugh at. my life is not strict or
straight or serious but makes each day pray for
restrictions. my life is not hallucinogenic or made
softer through stark shining alcohol. my life is
simple suburban seeking searching, aphorism for
undersexed overstressed waking walking worker, my
life is not what it ought to be or maybe not what
it should have been. my life is radios in the car
and cars that break on empty streets when it rains
or pours. my life is not sleeping, not dreaming to
wake or dreaming that one, one, one who makes the
whole world spin. my life is sleeping, thoughts
strewn carelessly across the turning world, colors
that run and bleed in places like burma and vietnam
or maybe only laos. my life is women who walk the
working roads in a burqa or maybe only a crucifix,
my life is women who paint themselves up and dance
dance across a wide stage. my life is articles in
obscure journals, books written by authors from
older, wiser centuries who have nothing real or
relevant to say. my life is empty rooms and bright
glaring suns or eager halogen bulbs that flicker
when i walk. my life is men in public places who
walk up behind me just to stand, my life is men who
strain for highest attempts and injure anyone or
any woman in the process. my life is money pouring
out of bank accounts, money grafted into the brain
on a schedule in a message just getting ready to
transform into clear stinging liquors. my life is
reaching across mountaintops, under oceans, through
trenches in intellectuality to find you, to find
and keep and love and taste and touch and love you.