will you hand me down when I'm worn out?
if spaces become tired of their regiment
if cries choke on their utterances
where am I to be found in disaster
formed from every dying thing?

the ground has no tolerance
my constant face down approach
my rude awakenings to its gut
my unannounced calls bore it

moments of clarity are uncalled for
realization is looked down upon
thoughts don't always escape polaroid
and reason has very little intention

will you hand me down when I climb up?
if justice runs with scissors
if tents pitch an irrational fit
where will we find the safety
formed beyond your sympathy lines?

the means have no ends for me
my unruly way of judgement
my slight of head and hand
my rationalization means nothing

moments are just echoes in sand
realization is looking away from yourself
thoughts are prone to betrayal
and we wear out when handed down

03/31/2003

Author's Note: repost

Posted on 05/07/2006
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