Still Water

In the final moments of the breakdown
the truths spewing out turned into a shakedown,
and I looked deep into the eyes of a sadly fake clown,
watching a perfect palimpsest that had recorded so many big
and small white flies,
caught in webs of intentional and unintentional disguise,
and slick alibis,
A black hole in time that allows the twisting of anything to keep peace,
They say why strive to be truthful when honesty's a little bit painful and always just out of reach?

Don't worry, we're not alone, it goes deeper than just we,
the new the old the in between, all one family,
all privy
to the same type of mask and sugar sweet deceit,
A deceit that allows the boat to float still despite the rocking of the tide,
Because when we don't know who we are, what kind of mask do you need to hide
and keep the indecision, lack of direction and lack of self -
all locked up within for an outward appearance of mental health
and a good deal of stealth
with a swift jump to a new lily pad
or perhaps a new johnson or willy fad-
not to be crass
but the conflicted hyperbole of jumbled and mumbled brains and heart and misplaced thought
is wrapped with ass -

- and with a laugh
I think I'll pass.

And now the beach that is my brain keeps being hammered by a joyous ocean with no name,
sitting quietly wanting for the tide to never pass
and with each sundraped wave and wave drenched speck of sand,
the ocean and beach collide in the palms of my hands
waiting for me to make manifest the sum of all my best laid plans
and I can.