The bag is open,
Mindless thought tripping under the noise
(a
c
h
merely a blockage;
we wish for life)
In these busy days.
We resent empty air
(I'm writing inspired by
chips on my shoulder,
chips taken in,
shit,
devolved;
this poetry is
mine and
yours
for the taking.)
The empty air that we breathe,
inouthold and then beg for it
(o stay;
once you find purity,
it's so hard to l se),
Choking on air much too heavy for me to
Chip away at yet,
Choking on these thoughts that slip in through
Chipped doorways beaten
down.
( below myself for the time being
I am merely
)
Empty the air.
Rip apart your seems,
Trip within the noisesilencedentschips
The w
h o
l e life can leave,
If only to learn to dance
(in
empty
).