and who can you love if they are dying all the time?

the crises of yesterday are stomped on by the crises of today, but they fight hard for breath and kicking space.

obsession finds those with too much wasted time and what if i wonder about the weather where i don't live anymore or rather

never lived

is that a crime?

or just freakish behavior

i found what they said long ago to be true but
it was too long ago for me to remember its significance so now i have to learn on my own
for myself and this obsession
with knowing and having always already caught the answer in one hand and dismantling with the other well

what do you say to someone who knows everything

and what do you say to someone who thinks she knows everything


and are you any different?

that is the question you keep asking yourself because
really are you any different?

whatever the answer, you begin to calm down a little
the hardest question has been laid on the table now

but it is not painless
self-interrogation

the hands in your head fiddle absent-mindedly and manages to touch nothing but nerves

a drawn-out affair to take place preferably in front of the mirror, but if you are too lazy, like i am, right here will be fine.

first, how often does the object of obsession cross your mind?

second, elaborate.
you know you want to.

like, how hard do you try to cross it out of your mind or do you embrace it and write about it or try?

so third, is this helping at all and if not what will you do afterward to jolt yourself out of this daze

if only that fan were working, the room would be much cooler and the plants might look happier for once

empty applications and cards of identification are lying

all over the place

hair begins to shine & grow faster, thicker,
as promised in shampoo commercials
but in your dreams they take over the rest of your body
and you lose all of your friends

what good is proof of identification if you are
constantly changing, and God,
that is an ugly picture with your face on it,
wonder if you can change it this time?

.

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