the quest to get on top of me

[saw]

I will try to stop.
I say try because
I happen to be intimate
with my addictions
did I tell you sometimes
I see things
hear voices
could be my dead mother
yelling at me to clean up
that pig sty I call a room
or my sadistic old boss
with the fetish of standing
on my chest in stiletto heels
while she had the perfect angle
to talk down to me
they all live large here
big as any real-time
vex mistress or master of chicanery
real as any old grunt with an asshole
they're no wimps I'll tell you that
every time I try to outsmart them
they pull the fucking rug out
send me spinning in the air,
an asymmetrical intoxicated gyro
that doesn't know north from south
and to think I trusted them, oh well
that's blood over the dam,
my goal, just the same, is not revenge
though a bit of agitation is fine if
I mix up the cauldron of imagination
all would be well with me
if' I blend well the mystery ingredients
I've been cosmically assigned

[Kailashana]

After all that we've said and done, nothing ever happened to anything real and of value. Just misappropriated meanings in the past tense. I'm so dense sometimes.

Love this poem.

~A


Oh, and here's a timely article on Something from Nothing....

http://www.tricycle.com/feature/somethi ... g?page=0,0

or Doing Nothing