Obbie

Snorting the present lights,
as a phase pass on by.
Illuminating trends and deep delirious thoughts,
harvest next to the collected dreams.

The neck elongated,
for a catch better tainted.
Mouthing a peripheral context,
to earn legs in the tribe.

Prayers needing substitution,
of another washed vision.
Tracing their defaults,
a mechanical faulty trials.


....................................

I like to think there is still an available rustic wooden shack waiting for me at the end of the light, reaching the edge of life.

I like to think I am not as daft, even without any interest in reading constantly.

I like to think my freckles and rashes are only the phase we all go through. Or at least I am going through.

I like to think I have my mind, still, and the girl inside is holding on.

I like to think.