Fine Lines

Lines on Top
and underneath
inside ourselves
forgotten
seen in dreams...
sometimes lines fade
absurdities betrayed
abstracting thought vision
through the haze
this social construction
this thing that I built
that built me from experience
commodifiable, pliable social product
bendable arms and legs that move
a pretty landscape of cultural creations
lines on a page waiting desperately to be
written upon writing lines that block out the sun
that let in the rain that make vanity pain and all these fuzzy fragments
of my mine, blocks of space and trace of time I've lost my find inside this maze
betrayed by what I see today the lines don't bother me but come the morning who can say
tomorrow is another day and flowers might be seen or purchased from the deli
down the street they cut them daisies and the tulips sometimes roses too I
wonder if they feel pain like broccoli communicating to carrots in conversation
self deprecation can get old and cold and out of line and fine indulgent
left behind my dogs and cats in Mexico they waited for me but I never
returned did they howl at the moon and the sun waiting for me to
come home or did they get used to dinner from another man's hand
orders from another command I understand that is how it works
he who holds the leash is the one who can jerk and work or
not to be too heavy but the rain is falling down and it is
hard to see through not stop dropping on the ground
and sniffles and cracking and gurgling sound
from my stomach because I ate too much
and my mind in crowded some say out of
touch from too much feeling going on and on
within the walls of shapeshifting consciousness
I speak to computers much more than
humans these days i hold myself
i squeeze my hand and wrap
around the same old line
tomorrow is coming
everything will
be fine.