Talking to my Self

 

Moments days ideas and notions running each into the other,

I wonder sometimes at this particular madness that is my state of mind.

Obsessing and dismissing, detailing and vaguely scanning

the limitless horizon for an ending to all this crud, crap (bullshit is what it is)

with my own thoughts running over themselves

until there is nothing left of the original thought

but a decaying piece of gray matter

sticking steadfastly to the inside of my head.

You understand, there is really no understanding this terrible stain -

this unutterable sadness,

having no beginning no end.

Human perhaps, these sentimental - hormonal perceptions of unreality.

I’ve thought this through truly and honestly but

isn’t that what we all say when we aren’t being completely truthful not honest?

See but I’m trying to be upfront, in your face,

bluntly rolled between your fingers and somehow it all gets away from me,

the years the faint memories of hours and minutes

being covered by another day

(another blissfully painful moment).

I’ve got to wonder if there is a point to this?

Realizing that the inquiry is the end and means.

“Seek and ye shall find” a cliché upon another,

burying little truths which lay clinging stubbornly in the recesses

Where, finally, I’ve found you

in the second handed notion of truth.