This plastic life I've lived, where conscience shifts clouds blocking my eyes from seeing yours all the way through so I shift them to other things, gliding on surfaces not digging feet in never feeling only distracting if I dug it would be plastic all of it plastic building cardboard rationalizations fickle homes of thought to live in always thinking a life up in a mind not a life in the soul and one blow of wind and they're all gone I want something sturdier
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We Are Drowning, How Should We Kill Our Time?
PoetryThis collection of stream of consciousness prose was written during a very special time in my life. I left the city following a massive burnout, and lived in the country for months. I began a garden, cut most of my ties to the outside world, and wro...
