Hushed birdsong reaches the infinity point
Rushes brush the bushes for crane’s temporary peace
Swamp stains the window frame of reference
Sitting swing silence lets the source in
Mood swing tropical heat interference.
Lost trumpet calls nature’s next of kin.
Try to rob an honest earned
Forget all shreds forward learned.
Cobblestoned beyond first glance
Heat soaked rain in thirst’s dance.
Fire hydrant kills the vibe let the spirit free upon the grounds
The sounds of birds fly free within the cities’ marble shrouds.
Balcony = Chimney sweep for a followed transaction
Separate the masonic rich from the hand to mouth faction.
Never a dull past or future from here or there towards the moment
Health in dire need of a second combover, yet past due rent…
On second thought one second away always seems so close
Still outside the lines from a thoughtful try in repose
My mind is so fucking bored of this language, i’ve been forced to live it my entire life and it fails everyone like money/sex/voting/religion/ and fossil fuels being juiced to leave the fiber rot off into the compost. Symbols offer NOTHING and can all be reduced down to a lonely ?MARK.
David Owen Tevlin 
Let us for a moment, imaginatively at least, look over the world from a point of view which will reveal the inner workings and the outer workings of man, his creations and his battles; and if you can do that imaginatively for a moment, what do you see spread before you? You see man imprisoned by innumerable walls, walls of religion, of social, political and national limitations, walls created by his own ambitions, aspirations, fears, hopes, security, prejudices, hate and love. Within these barriers and prisons he is held, limited by the coloured maps of national boundaries, racial antagonisms, class struggles and cultural group distinctions. You see man throughout the world imprisoned, enclosed by the limitations, the walls of his own creation. Through these walls and through these enclosures he is trying to express what he feels and what he thinks, and within these he functions with joy and with sorrow. So you see man throughout the world as a prisoner, imprisoned within the walls of his own creation, within the walls of his own making; and through these enclosures, through these walls of environment, through the limitation of his ideas, ambitions and aspirations – through these he is trying to function, sometimes successfully, and sometimes with hideous struggle. And the man who succeeds in making himself comfortable in the prison we call successful, whereas the man who succumbs in the prison we call a failure. But both success and failure are within the walls of the prison.
– J. Krishnamurti (a man who rarely wrote anything down)