The Form of Guidance

These quiet lived,

doomed pleasures

just dying for the right

to have anything at all

tall, lean bodies

ripe with futility

backs aligned

all stiff, upright

yet up all wrong

their gaze is always filtering,

always faltering

from what I don't know

maybe those faithless,

wasted hours

we've all spend so fitfully

to be taught what we've been

destined to learn, unlearn

they all stand in rows

head counts, white lined paper,

loose ends

Heads filled with the same

as the paper they write on

the loose ends wrapping

hopelessness tight in the back of your mind

crowded fears

these times as useless as pennies

and pennies as useless as any of us

I am not ready for this,

what I was born into

flailing and screaming

simplicity honed into perfect form,

and it has been all downhill from there

But these lives all continue

to be those middle men

in a place of no history

they continue their paved, rugged jaunt

deep inside the pillow

brimming with anxiety

for the day they exit

the comfort of their wool

and then realize they all want back

their forever long womb

I am not ready for this, what I was born into

yet I am here

and that will not change

So it's all done and all been

and finally we're all

just one transforming,

visual, orgasmic, revolting,

revolving, revolutionizing,


The End

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