no accounting for taste

a house in order
i think it only fools the brain
to think that life is
somehow in order
which comes down to predictability…

she would say
every thing has its place
put it back where you found it!
put thoughts back where
you found them…

mucking around
in those gray areas
righting the world
until the senseless makes sense

has order
calm boredom
of predictability

why are we predictable?
it’s crystal balls
and carnivals
a complication
of knowing what’s next

the next order of business
of something
i remember
picking the petals
from a chrysanthemum
we didn’t have daisies
he loves me
he loves me not
eh… remember when the questions
in life were spoonfed
in commercials between
road runner cartoons

i absorbed every one
like a good little robot

put thoughts back where you found them!
mostly i want to live
without all that wishful thinking
killing the present

you live in the now?
the now is overrated
we must have order!
everything in its place
for the mind to swallow

tormented by a past
and tortured by a future
it all clashes with my hopes
that went missing

driven down
until at some point
i crushed the crystal ball
plucked every single daisy
made a soup out of the future
beep beep

a rose by any other name
what is more beautiful?
chaos or order?
design or ambiguity?
thinking is beautiful

when you THINK
you are beautiful
etched into a deliverance

i was found
at a point where it didn’t matter
how old how sick
how many credits in a stupid bank
i was found at the point where
i sat in a circle
passing a tequila bottle
and when that worm came to me
said unh-uh
passed it to someone else

since the dawn of time
it’s been nothing but repetition

i looked at my family’s one grave
trying to understand
read the names
looked up to see the wind in the trees
where are the real graves?

there is so much more
than what we hold as conventional wisdom

who invented fear?
seeing into the future
my happiest moments were never planned
my greatest moments
are somewhere hiding

beep beep!
thinking is beautiful
all the pictures i’ve collected
of disappointment

telling me where NOT to go

painted into a corner
there is no accounting for taste

the miserable child leftover
sat and looked at a gravestone
but no one was there
only the wind in the trees

only an ache
a need for some kind of answer

so she put the thoughts back where she found them
because it was never her question
and she left one flower
on that coldly etched stone
knowing a flower only made it worse

letting something else die, too

how many ways do i feel sorry for myself?
i made my day predictable
with the freedom to do so
i wonder how i got here
how did i become a self?
i sigh a lot
between sips of coffee
guess that means i’m weary
running in circles
trying to find a place
for all these things i’m told to believe
trying to make order

you want to know what my crazy self worries about?
picking the wrong direction where
environment gets smaller and smaller
until you are trapped at the core….

i don’t worry about the core
i worry about being stupid enough
to think i’m reaching for freedom
when i’m really just going father into a box
the cave
the cell

i wonder what it means to struggle
giving up quietly

is freedom just another concept?
but the person i am
begins today
beep beep

and maybe
maybe there is something different…
in this strange world
strange and beautiful
maybe wrong and right
are just me, hurting



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