Musings of Mr. Morrow

My knees are sore and my back hurts,

i have woken up at 2:30am the last several weeks

unblinking

if i just clean one more room

empty one more closet

hang one more prized possession that you have kept in a ripped folder in a water damaged box in

the way you keep things you love

things you hoard

things like me

but while i am organizing

my brain can be quiet and i can catch up on my remaining three hours of sleep

two rounds of dreams for me that will die as hallucinations

and cannot be remembered

you rely on that

remembering

you have weaponized nostalgia to tell me that things were better than i am imagining

but they were not

you enslaved time, and forced it to do your dirty work

you scrubbed the oil and soot out of our history and regurgitated your facts

you think if you just drink from the new one, everyone will forget you poisoned the well

but i was there, the soot is still in the laces of my shoes, the poison on my tongue

i wish i could remember my dreams again

but i cannot let you forget your transgressions

where left,

can i go to scream,

except away

i thought we were crying

because we were trying

to fix the holes in our torn sheets

but while i was working

i know you were shirking

and leaving every thread to me

even though you say you care you've indentured me for thirty seasons

two months longer than even jacob waited for his bride

but like these stories you deceived me, locked me down with useless reasons

but you choose not to be a rachel and i know i can't do this again

you bit my heal and sang to strangers

hoping they would build you up

and you call yourself so empathetic

but this ponds vines will soon come up

I'm leaving you

i am leaving you

i write it on a board game but you never found them interesting

or i will slip it into conversation god knows your not listening

i'll store it in a box of favorite things to do together

neglected and alone collecting dust

i think of all the times our failures made me want to walk into traffic

well now, alone, you will finally have a reason to tell your therapist

i existed

I want to work on the hardest problems,

and tinker with the world's loose ends.

I want to tie string theory to a kite,

and bring along my friends.

But nothing ever happens, nothing ever happens.

I want to build machines of god,

consume the universal fuel.

I want to save my planet from ourselves,

and fuse corpuscules.

But nothing ever happens, nothing ever happens.

I want to play melodies and challenge art,

and dance out with the birds.

See Florence, Boston, Dublin, Kansas,

and play my humble words.

But nothing ever happens, nothing ever happens.

I want to lose myself to chemistry,

share drinks with Juliet.

But gently in the night I'm told,

the wine is not mine yet.

Because nothing ever happens,

Nothing ever happens.

Nothing ever happens.

desperate for attention i make and try

to find meaning in transmutation

reorganizing the corpuscules of a once dead god

so that the arrow of time maybe return

like a child's toy

but like My Love, i seek observation

not for validation or riches

but to know i am

we are

"do you think she weeps?" i ask the coffin roled out for me.

14 billions of years of toiling and combining energetic space in every way and all she has to show for it

is us

but blind we reach out and touch her

we feel the stiff tendons and swollen wrists of a watchmaker

my hand traces her forearms, seduced

"what can i do to make you mine?"

there is one creed above all

No being should have to serve another to survive.

this is the goal of humanity to free our shackles

shackles to eachother

shackles to the earth

shackles to time

We will not rest until the day you begin your existence you could choose to do nothing and still be able to eat, drink, survive

Live

Anywhere, for as long as you want.

It's the final goal, only then will we truly know ourselves, human behavior in a universe without scarcity

That's why we make cheaper food, that's why we make faster vessels, that's even why we try to automate away jobs

Because once we're done we won't have to do anything

So we can finally get to what we want to do

beyond my intestines and cells and synapses and sequences and shells and gluons and

i hear the song of the universe

a grotesque process over all these years a being trying to be

Free

my true creed becomes the goal of the Universe

They spun matter, discarding its twin, to make bombs of origin, ejecting their life, to make orbs of nucleons, with electrons as glue

over and over and over until an ornament fell from the tree

where layers of chemicals spilled in ovens of horrors an energetically perfect cesspool of divine inflection and a runaway reaction met

then silence

a single cell, maybe just a structure exists and foe the first time in the universe there is reaction, response,

perception

a new chemical reaction has taken place one wjth a direction, like the orbit of satellites it falls never hitting the ground

my words feel chaotic like the process of life-giving but i dance with the rhythm of the universe to the beat of x-ray emissions

simply how

smokey lounges, yachts and pools

owning speech with pay per rule

I once thought my thoughts were mine

red in the face, I'll grow a spine

donate to your own charities

so you can keep your pockets clean

nonprofits served on emerald dishes

green face topped benjamin garnish

Coffee against starving kids

We had no choice but to vote for shit

But half of you still disagree

Well so much for democracy

When you sit and remember

That, oh, those men are human too

I'd like to remind you that you are right

That all those men are human too

Humans who can see the pain

Humans who can reason through

Humans who can hear our screams

And choose their cash instead of you

So when I feel that empathy

Welling up inside of me

I make the decision easy

And kill the bastard

Kill the bastard

Kill the bastard

And his friends

their names and faces lost to time

We've all become red-green face blind

Superpacs while we're in shacks

Town squares packed, but who attacks

And if I chose to kill myself

A thought meant for the one percent

I'd buy a gun, not just for me,

and clear the rot from government

my nose is assaulted with carrion stench

now that I am home again

indistinguishable from the propane

i cover

all heavy thoughts with Forest Fir

the rain visits less than it used to

i thought it was nostalgia at first

a romantic window needs water trickling

but no

the clay sits dry and grass stays brown long past August

the candle is not working but the air

is so stagnant the rot creeps in waves

death jolting me from my very own thoughts

of death

the irony is not lost on the wind

i have surrounded myself with fire

it is my kin, we are both chemistry and light

atoms rapidly cascading down energy levels

unknowing of

the result, sometimes we dream of a species

evolving to use fire and steel

when i stand i stir the permeating fumes,

the living waking the dead for one last attack

and still it smells sweet, within the ranks

there survives

a reminder that it's not that simple because

to some we are decay and to others we are dessert

the tank is out of propane and the candle is burning low

the cold air reminds me it is a fluid and flashfloods my tent

i take some of it into my warm lungs and it becomes me

except now i know

it was never not me to begin with I breathe in again

my nose is assaulted with carrion stench

i wish to be the sunbeams on the canopy

dancing sweetly in the morning breeze while you sing to me

I know it's not much to ask but sometimes you don't know

just how much your voice means to the light

I'll take you from busy streets and muddy grasslands

from where mosquitos breed and the coasts were never sand

me and you will drink the autumn leaves back to summer

and celebrate in pastel woods

There is no one else who I'd rather walk with

I find your stride meets the rhythm to my heart

and even if you trip and fall

let's roll down the hill

There is no other thing to search for

Except a marketplace to buy you gifts

Christmas decorations can wait

Were still drinking champagne

I wish to be the sunbeam in the moon roof of your car

Thirty five degree with the windows down

I'll hold your hands as we leave the city

and nod our heads to drum beats in the road

I'll take you from the rain and dusty footprints

feed lotus seeds to rabbits and birds all day

when you look ready to turn in

I'll ask for you to stay

There is no one I'd rather walk with,

I find your stride meets the rhythm of my heart

and even if you trip and fall

let's roll down the hill

Me and you will drink the autumn leaves back to summer

and celebrate pastel woods

Because there is no one I'd rather walk with,

I find your stride meets the beat if my heart

and even if you trip and fall

let's roll down the hill

the fog rests upon the construction

off the highway which has rooted my soul

this escher business park of generic faces

rots my teeth, quiets my conciousness

i think through romancable characters i left behind

different quests and quibbles i omitted myself from

regrets realign my derealization

this is my life, i built this

fuck

file in the funeral you'll find it on a screen,

a noose, a gun, a broken son, romantic mother scream

"Its so sad," I'll say to you, "we lost them in their prime"

"cause God knows when your doing well the thing to do is die."

prep your glass; prep your noose.

martyr art; on the loose.

here comes the late's wife to say he's at peace

some kid logs onto your articles, plastered on every page,

a role, a song, a pretty wrong, pills spilled on hype and craze,

"You know that's why he was so good at " *static* *laugh track* *bang*

cause you can't make anyone love you unless you want to die

it would be the right thing,

to cover them in cotton,

but mesmerized im craving it,

my own rose-tinted Coffin,

call them poets, tortured, understood,

kiss their Graves and rates so often,

never wanting to be above us all,

they lay in rose-tinted Coffin

find yourself in hotel bathrooms, smelling piss and bleach,

blinded by reflections and her insincerity,

I'll still be there to pull your hair smile for the academy

the glass looks smooth and does move just as you'd like to be

you get anxious

then feel reckless

fortitude for fuckers

feckless us

listen to these goddamn murder words

hear their comedy calamity

but his corpse does not seem rotten

infatuated, I can't help myself

praising rose tinted coffins

it would be the right thing

to cover them in cotton

but mesmerized we find ourselves

jealous of rose tinted coffins

find me, between the pink glass walls

blind me, with strangers recognition,

praise me, until they shrink these halls

raze me, deranged we want to be him

find me, under the pink glass face

blind me, the light will wash out my sin

praise me, I exit stage left with grace

raze me, formaldehyde in my grin

it would be the right thing

to cover them in cotton

but mesmerized, I'm craving it

claws on rose tinted coffins

it would've been much better

to cover them in cotton

but stuck inside we find ourselves

in our own wooden coffins

o little crucifix above the door

what are you for? who are you for?

could have been me, as it was before

to settle the score, i ask you what for

o little crucifix above the door

why are you here? who put you here?

could it be them, who worship sincere

but they do it from fear, cheer at your jeer,

i find myself watched and hated away

once elated, now sedated, you led me astray

my touch and my kiss was boxed up and cursed

this frustrated verse, this frustrated verse

eyes watch as our hands raise from black to white

their worship in grayscale, heavens gate delight

colorless, thoughtless, evil, perverse

i call out your name, you give me your worst

o great steeple, pinning this city

granite and gardens, dark simplicity

crumbled foundations, barbaric times

eat your gods flesh, drinky shitty wines

o great steeple, right in the center

who put you there? do you remember?

were you built for peace or built for control

dismemberment catacombs topped off with skulls

how can i see orange or green,

while blinded by your stolen gold shein

i find myself exiled and loathed,

lovers beguiled they ripped off their clothes,

wash your feet, empty their purse,

this forgone verse, this forgone verse

i watch as my hands raise from black to white

my worship in grayscale, my holy fight

shortsighted, hypocritical, evil, perverse

i call out one name, they give me your worst

cruelly, i stand on shore, i ask for too much, betray and dismay

but three apostles, standing on the lake, as nine more decay

dry and on top of us, to them we are whores, liars and devils, the sick and the poor,

out of their pallet, they paint with the smoke, the bodies they burn, we plead them once more

but they won't see our suffering, while blinded by your stolen gold shein,

refuse to see they caused suffering, they blind themselves with your stolen gold shein

I find myself watched and hated away,

once elated, now sedated, you led me astray,

my touch and my kiss was boxed up and curse,

this frustrated verse, this frustrated verse,

we watch as their hands raise, from black to white,

a worship in grayscale, heavens gate delight,

colorless, thoughtless, evil, perverse,

they call out your name, you give them your worst

i find myself watched and hated away

once ingrained now disdained, you lead me astray

my heart and my soul, brought forward and cursed

god damn God Man's rod, I hate this fucking verse

they painted the world in black and white

a worship in grayscale, cultists delight

colorless, thoughtless, evil, perverse,

they call out your name, you give them your worst

they call out your name, you give them your worst

if you say my name, ill give you my worst

i wish to be a lyricist, commanding harmonies and boleros with tongue tied rhythms

grasping at magpies and songbirds, making order and sensibility but i am

entropic, a restless crucible of dense experiences

my contents push through the cracks at my base, faithless fissures, inspected and unpatched,

and no body wants to sing to that

a cobweb of facts, not that i am the arachnid, dilligently collecting my prayerful prey to sustain and invigorate my drive, but instead i am the chorus of corpses litering the silky trap,

i am no individual, i am no hunter

i am dancer, but my whereabouts in seven-eight waltzes confound and frustrate my achilles so to styx i will wait

mustn't be godly then, i lash out at us,

in silence, fomenting, for push, but

i pull, who am i to not obey,

helpless self spoken swine,

series and set, searches and match,

wild game overcome with intellect, ideas

Idea

unholy apparatus, symbiosis,

acceptance, realization

the last pure word, i try new soon,

without filters i challenged gods and devils, mine and his, crumbling beneath existentialism and a tidal soup of acrobatic vocabulary to force sentinels into boxes

no more, nevermore, not enough there is history and archaic knowledge to dredge out of gray grey greats, not self-proclaimed like i,

not a great but a poet i like to be, i can only hope that knowledge is for folly but for focus

how do i dismount this dismayed high horse

here aloft the weeds i see snakes, mistakes

i take the seedless river reeds and weave their fibers, i deliver the serpent's traps and trails but left behind is rounded teeth and tails,

the threat thwarted, neutered but lingering, an egg away from aggression,

two pinholes in my ankles and wrists, each, betray me in time, acid drips from my nostril and eye, not intravenous by bite your garter pulled so high on your road, above even my steed you

zealot!

cell walls fall our capture adjacent, but with no membrane maintaining my stay, i take something borrowed and leave out of the blue

flourescence, which reflects dog hair and hubris and the third snake this morning and red

roses and lipstick left in empty drawers