|
Subconcious Instructions
by C. Rodger
i think it would be altruistic, to say that my biscuit
is a plain chocolate mcvities digestive, once ingested
can provide me with enough energy
to walk 100 yards or create another fantasy
in my imagination,
i could be in a space station,
directing traffic in a vacuum with no nation, some contemplation
for me to think of this in my school library-
of munchies that stimulate on the tongue to be tasty
and lines i write that emulate the superiority
of my non-existant heroes effect and causality...
to write a rhyme that effects like time and space,
a universe-wide elusive verbal dragon that i chase
seems so far away in my prision of contemptible indifference,
i wonder if it's nature or the nurture of my environment
that make me think like this, that make me wish,
that i could live in my imagination
away from reality's aggressive inflammation
of thoughts and ideas that appear corrupted and distorted
in the mass of nerves inside my skull that all go unrewarded.
but in flickers of insignificance, i feel a need for independence
from the constraining waves of my mind's inner workings
that break tidal barriers and leave perceptions rocking,
talking to myself, to remind myself
that i'm not the only one around here
to stop material death i need spiritual arrest
but i think i might be too damn wierd...
i'm falling down the well trying to cling to the bucket
but i can't override a subconcious instruction telling me to fuck it.
|
|