Saturday Mornings

The world still sleeps and I am hear listening to the wind of the night on the desert. The shifting sands sweep my thoughts away like glistening metal. Half buried in the earth forgotten memories push to the surface. The weight of life exists not here. It races in the wind to scourge the world and make it shine in the morning quiet.

Chaos feeds the mind and reason traps it in a killing jar. The only order is the circadian law and even that we fight. The pineal urges pulse under the plates of bone. The spinoid pleasure of randomness exists but a few inches away. To bridge the gap from hateful peanut in my mind to the butterfly of infinite freedom. So far the gap fits universe of culture ,dogma, and plodding existance.
Drag your feet in the dust of useless brain pan.

LGG