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

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,

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 -