Context

nothing tomorrow except the usual
situation I think of giving it all up
again before it's too late again
why do I have to write my stories
even if people like them who cares
that we had lives they'll never know
context was all that made it matter

and that's I'mpossible to explain

Last Days

maybe I can wake up if I
try harder and drink more
water in the form of what
you will fail to identify
wars go on for years 
now like falling cards
as if chance cared less
than stupid governments
putting us back to bed
to sleep to dream last
days of open hearts
wondering what to do
to make us all feel better

The Doing

things that happen are not all
the things I do modeling self
as I see it emerge transformed
this is not Rimbaud speaking of
waking up smelly still stoned
this is the body conscious of gain
and loss that was never there
something else will not save me
from real made to order fantasy 
like a merciful anesthetic again
opening up heaven's overflow
sun pours in celestial clockwork
grinding away from inside out
ecstatic if understood right
as it happens I am the doing