ravenous

more than anything else
i love to be alone
not for the masturbation on the image, but
for the hunger that surrounds
the solitude that is the question
where will i go
what is this day to me?

never in the present happening it seems
i am to be found usually outside of it
one way or another
circling time as animal
but unseen to the idiot

i feel ravenous friends
every day i trim a wing
as to tailor flight
toward the ground
every night i twitch and pace
toward something else
much less
knowing this failed bird
this buoyant creature
succumbed by acedia
unable to pray
its own and certain way

a window becomes overgrown
unable to swing open when once
it was never closed
not against light,
neither cold nor night

nothing of this world has been built to consume
a being full of curiosity
thinking and feeling are constant revolutions against madness
what reaches out to us and takes us into it?
asks us to go somewhere
something ugly hisses silently  
you're nowhere for no good reasons
just fear
what asks us to stay here in imagination's wasteland
ego preserved up in facades and cables and locked doorways
the sidewalks we have to walk to be guided by the dead will of men
adults are just laying here, some are waiting in lines
i am remaining?

engage me in strength of energy and wonder
what's with the subtle blood drain
prick here prick there
little by little waning the soul's hunger
often i rise i find myself dizzy
perhaps this is why

hardly ever in the unfolding present moment
usually situated forward or backward
neither are true movements
but relations, reactionary
from zero, stillness, center
forward and backward are strategies
against disappearing into
this collective grave