Wasted moments,
spent fretting
over what to wear
what to think
what to say
and death becomes me.
Wasted words flung haphazardly
into the chaotic drums of
empty ears.
Wasted moments, wasted ways,
the wasted wilting
and we turn back
towards the Earth, towards the source
from where it came from itself
from its own
wasted wilted withering.
With every breath
spent in solitude in an open
airy breathy silence
death becomes me.
Another wasted day
spent pulling in,
caving in, hoarding
contracting and
restricting
and death becomes me.
Another void
of choke infested streets
of mindless chatter and the
pitter patter of feet running
and skimming along the delusional paths
to freedom and independence.
Wasting wasted
adding to the piles
of cheap plastic crap made in China or Mexico
or Sri Lanka but surely it is not the States
the lawn chairs, am/fm radios
and other wal-mart grade land-filling shit
wasting away in piles the size of small department store buildings
flung like cancerous tumors into the backyards of our neighborhoods
into the family rooms of our homes
into the very heart of our animal nature
turning our wilting ways
and our wasted days
into mindless chitter chatter
and our running feet sent a pitter-patter
on these streets to nowhere.
and death becomes me.
