Night Window

Inside of a raindrop exists Heisenberg's Uncertainty. The apt pupil capable of outdoing all of his previous mistakes. Don't save it for the damned. Drink up. Swallow the medicine. Leave for awhile. The strings that held us together are severed. Enter the cave, turn left, burn. Tie one on, savor the falling leaves, bathe in the purple jacaranda flowers as they fall. Send in the Coast Guard for a raft that was abandoned a long time ago. The experiment takes a sudden turn. The race car obliterates the mind of the driver as they're thrown full speed into a lonely wall. No witnesses please. Shed your skin, expose flesh and bone to the elements, suffer gangrene, die on Kilimanjaro just like that asshole writer. You two would make a good pair of removed melodramatics. A curled message. A desperate uniformity. The transformation of a garden from good to evil. A succulent soil. Drained septic tank. Recycled trash heaps. Carbon fuel. Misunderstood messages. Darlings. Honeymoons. Maladaptive memories. Carry-on baggage. Wanton lust. The rest is poison. I'll spare you. A bed made in the morning. It's patient, I'll give it that. It mocks me. The sponge. The collector of fluids. The heathen. The phone booth. Organic matter. Opulent oranges. Orgasmic earthquakes beginning from the toes and ending in the darkest night. Organ players. Questions of a child. Disappointing answers of a conditioned mind. The death of trust. The waking of complications. Inherent beauties swept away by external realities. Chance occurrences. Boredom. Deaths. Circus tents. Bears riding motorcycles. Beasts of Burden. Quiet minds. Burger Kings. Archangels. Diabetic shock. Heaping spoonfuls of bullshit. Misconceptions, humbling experiences of purity. What we can do. What we can do. what we can do. What we can do. What we can do. What we can do. This is not a message in self-loathing. This is a wandering stardust. This is a mercurial chasm of failing matter. This is a pointless remake of a classic. A candle dying. A bike lock stolen. A piece of wedding cake smushed into the groom's face. Vanilla sex. Chocolate lullabies. Forgotten tears. Downtrodden posturing. Loving embraces. Drifting tides. Burning bridges, Mood rings. Past lovers. Alternative lifestyles. Hands covering faces. Chance occurrences. Sweltering heat and humidity. Drawers containing wisdom teeth. Drawers containing notebooks. Drawers containing beating hearts. Old journals. Ghosts of product. Stoned children's stories. Failed mechanisms. Destitute prostitutes. Poorly drawn conclusions. Insensitive remarks to feelings told. Apologies. Elder statesmen. it's the bad dreams. It's all the shit that flew through my brain when you were in bed next to me. It's born-again fragments. It's feelings that lay dormant but never die. It's the puncturing in an attempt to bleed my horrors out. It's the fact that you made life better. A canopy strung between the moon and some stars. A corner bar where I used to sit alone. A passive pursuit. A scared child. A revolving journey like a vortex. A bed in a Hollywood living room. Two birds outside a window. A bad idea. Always a bad idea, hanging artwork, parked cars, inhaling together, always a bad idea. Never talk and drive. Never leave undecided. Never begin a sentence with and. And always use a bookmark that doesn't drive you crazy at the sight of it. Nobody knows anything. Somebody knows something. Everybody knows everything. I'll ask you to dance in a faraway bar and it'll be perfect because I always told you I didn't move like that. I'll surprise you one day with my sense of adventure. I'll return a better man. I'll wake up. I'll change more. More. More. I'll evolve and it won't be subtle. I'll pinpoint my feelings. I'll carry myself relaxed. I'll charge full speed ahead like a victory cry. The mornings will start slow. The sunrise will greet us with a smile. The universe will shake hands and ask us to tea. The present will dazzle. The moments will grow infinite. The laughter will explode involuntarily and shatter human shells. The world will begin again.