Belong Somewhere

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Abstract

now-how below, that we’re better than the skin of a beat-up scarecrow.Furnish tones and uncomfortable lies to go, it’s left to us to save the lemmings from drowning in the ocean.Their brothers and sisters are historically doomed for their parents’ knotted shoes that must be cut to a bloody death or unraveled for trauma to finally come loose.The last are incapable and some have a few strings loose to chaotic dissonance where the mind bleeds this and that is all right and wrong under the ultimate truth liquidizing their brains for the needle to finally, make sense of it all.The past is supposed to be liberating of the bricks we pushed off a clif

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f savoring the mile-long drop that plummets to the earth as fast as rain beating evaporation to the crust and then the core.It still lingers — there is no escape from who we are or who we are meant to be and we thought we could form, we thought we could shape the world differently than our ancestors who are expressed in us to our lack of knowing, to our lack of being we cannot be sure if I am me or you are them, the fit has changed, the energy recycled, and the search remained to be here or to be there where the moon presents the passage of two and the journey beyond midnight blue, we search to be, we search to see, we search for ourselves to belong somewhere.</article></body>

A Poem

Bite our leathery hearts to cast stones at the expense of self-worth and lonely souls. To where and how do we ever belong?

The crimson noses mind leaves of snow passing justice to the man on the other side of the coin.

We believe so deep in our bones of the righteous know-how below, that we’re better than the skin of a beat-up scarecrow.

Furnish tones and uncomfortable lies to go, it’s left to us to save the lemmings from drowning in the ocean.

Their brothers and sisters are historically doomed for their parents’ knotted shoes that must be cut to a bloody death or unraveled for trauma to finally come loose.

The last are incapable and some have a few strings loose to chaotic dissonance where the mind bleeds this and that is all right and wrong under the ultimate truth liquidizing their brains for the needle to finally, make sense of it all.

The past is supposed to be liberating of the bricks we pushed off a cliff savoring the mile-long drop that plummets to the earth as fast as rain beating evaporation to the crust and then the core.

It still lingers — there is no escape from who we are or who we are meant to be and we thought we could form, we thought we could shape the world differently than our ancestors who are expressed in us to our lack of knowing, to our lack of being we cannot be sure if I am me or you are them, the fit has changed, the energy recycled, and the search remained to be here or to be there where the moon presents the passage of two and the journey beyond midnight blue, we search to be, we search to see, we search for ourselves to belong somewhere.