i took the shape from the cloud and put it on my phone
i took the call from the bird and lost it in the street

i got the thrust from the wind and tossed it in a drawer

i took the life of a lamb and shat it out

i got time to live and sold it for a watch

i got a timepiece and spent

time measuring time

i measured the correctness of the shape

the rarity of the call

the reliability of the thrust

the pleasure from the lamb

the value of time

(in the style of aimee mann)

what a prisoner feels
it ain't wanderlust
no matter what the trial reveals
it's the chair, or bust,

whenever the right time was
to finally come clean
it wasn't worth the fuss
and without the means,

to lead the witness
or doctor the scene
they see a recidivist 
low down and mean,

in the game of crime,

you eked one win

(who's keeping score?)

called in the chaplain

to absolve your sin

(walk through the door)

we marked the time

when the lights went dim

(what was it for?)

couldn't sleep,

three nights now, 2am

dream of school again, or

cemetery, similar vibes

broken by the hushed

sirens outside,

urge to piss, and

god it's hot in here

Mind,

subjugated and stupefied midday,

asserts its power at 2am

  imagination that tortures,

  analyses across time and space,

  pointless or destructive

  or destruction's the point?,

  painted hypotheticals,

  vividly self-evident,

  showy cartwheels,

yawn

an organ doing its thing,

not the soul, not

poetic, despite the poem

it creates of itself, awake

then, thankless and unseen,

eventual expansion into emptiness,

flush to the borderline

between consciousness

and -