orgami's Diaryland Diary

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cartesian

fifty awaits
the Doors play
the world tilts on

somewhere it had meaning
on the ride
rolling

somewhere it was clear
behind the joyous anger
of the songs

the mirage grew close
and i grew closer
visions arriving
my soul clearing

and now
the worn writers shoes
the typewriter quiet
waiting
beside the table lamp
with no bulb
the hip pocket fraying
with wear
the Parker still full
of its voice

the notepads in their magic
notes now lost the meaning
with the keys
hanging mute on their chain
announcing my steps
my departure before arrivals

and this evening wind
turned to morning
hushed through the boughs
of the snow bare trees
returning to their soft
deocorum
their decorations
of white
to illuminate the
morning
come the new suns
greeting
rising earlier
sleeping later

the years scrolled away
in a fingertips perusal
i wont find the answers
in this diary
or all the others

the body of poetry
awating return
on the backup up
hacked up fucked up
system i visit

no certianity
in the insanity
of writing

the pilfer wander
i take in the scattered
words
of my world
that i speak
of

along my way......

12:28 a.m. - 2014-04-02

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