In The Conservatory

Guess where I am.

Sometimes I don't even know.




I'm here.

I'm there.

I spread and move and float.

I come unmoored and sink in stormy seas.

I end broken hearted, resting rusted on the bottom of the bottomless sea.

But in the conservatory,......




I am in the plants, or tucked securely into a flower.


Dripping down the window pane.




I'll be near the ceiling.

Gnawing on the cactus roots.

I am the water that feeds the plants and the dirt they live in.

My breath is the steam and my spirit the air.

forever.

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The Fleas are Biting

So you create a moral universe for yourself, right?
It's like a law or whatever, you have to draw that line in the sand.
I mean, you have society and all that, but you also have to have your own personal shit.
Like, you might steal bread if your mother was starving or whatever, but you wouldn't steal a...a...screwdriver. ( Just for the hell of it)
Or take drugs, or you know, whatever else.

But as you get older, do the boundaries just kinda shift? Kinda edge farther and farther away until you have to fucking run to keep up.  And nothing really makes sense anymore that did, it really did.

Christ!
 Then you're looking around, thinking, "Where am I?  Where the hell am I?"
And then maybe you...you know, go to a shrink or whatever.
Drink beer, blow your head off.
I don't know.
I mean, is it that bad though?  To not know where you stand?
I mean, when you think of it, how do we ever know, the sands are constantly shifting under our proverbial fucking feet or whatever.

That will be 8.50.

Oh, uh, okay.  Here.

Thanks, have a good day.

I mean, did you hear anything I just said?  Was I speaking out loud at all?

What's that sir?

Nothing.

Have a good day!

Yeah, same to you.

Ding


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