Lets run in circles. And run on pathways. And after trains. And circles. Discovering isn’t very hard.

Lets just roll over the grass. On hills. And sand. And smile.

Lets dive in the water. Open our eyes. Close them again. Smile.

Lets discover.

It is easy they say.

The question is–what happens after this. After the discoveries. After the running. After the rolling. After the dive.

Should you never open your eyes?

It is easy they say.

There is grey. A book. Of unanswered, undefined patterns. And coffee. And in unending paragraphs–there was nothing to dwell–and everything.

There is a camera. And a canvas. And a sheet of paper.

And patterns.

It is very easy they say.


We don’t know what we are discovering. And we never find out.

We keep running in circles. And follow the same cycle. And then we close our eyes, as we dive into the water.


City lights keep burning out. And so we learn that there is life. But that is not a new discovery.

City lights fade.

Now that is worth discovering.

It is very easy they say.


The Bloody Machine


It has been played with. Tossed and turned. Tossing with it the turn of each day and turning about every time night was tossed around.
Jostled. Misled.
It has been bruised and bled. Wounded and scarred.
It has pleaded. Wailed. Agonized. Trumped. Lost.
Broken. Shattered. Attacked.
Torn and ripped apart. Taken and crumpled.

The bloody machine. The powerful motor. The damned plug it is. Wont stop. Succumb.
It still keeps going. when it should have given up. Each time i’d think–now it is done for.
Bloody machine–it keeps coming back for more. Even though it is tiresome. But the bloody machine–though not very well oiled–keeps going on and on and on.