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I’m shapeless yet curvy
Merely cannot circle around sense
Squaring off against an octagon
Rectangular dysfunction
No time to wear
A pendulum shifting
Anywhere but nowhere here

Sun is gone
Gray says it all, too brightly
Wrong is sung in silence
But a rightful place
Is left in a Nomad’s center residential
Home sweet honing in homeless owners

Confusion’s conclusions
Parallels still winds
Blowing lively through
A busy valley, A graveyard’s youth
A sedated sickly community full of healthy hope

Distance is closer
Local is further
Down the spiral of peaking hours
Bestowing stubborn gratuities
Marching fifty miles an hour

Tipsy recoveries
Intoxicatingly sober
Drunk on the wagon
Sobriety’s clean image clear
As pureness dirties up the scene

Bi polarized into psychological cleansing
Sane with these voices in my head
Crazy are those who don’t hear them

If you make too much sense of this
Your head is bound to explode
Becoming it’s own big bang theory
Of endless tedious lethargically
energized thought processions
Pondering without exploration’s
Exploitation that keeps privately to itself

Thinking is great
But over thinking
What would that achieve?
Watching life pass on by

My honor is ever sending
I am gracefully flawed to the core
Perfection is such a bore
Come forth resurrect confusion
And may the adventure begin

Welcome to this paradox’s universal contradiction
Where Pandora becomes flustered with joyful grief


You may now enter the exit inside this very conclusive illusion



Written By,
James Darwin Smith II