hey sorry for posting that other poem twice i had the itchy trigger finger

i have a real hard time
listening
to anyone else

you are
not me
you are
not me

your words are not mine
and i'm just trying to be
the highest standing
individual in the whole
wide universe and if
something has already
been said and i
accidentally
repeated it

it feels as if 'I' have just
died, sameness superceeding
it

the creative recluse trying
always
always
always
to break loose

like hot molten lava
errupting from a volcano
on the shores of a beautiful
island that the natives say
is just just just just just just
fine
as is:
and they need nothing more
nothing else, they are fine

but the volcano errupts firing
purity in energy and synergy
in spite of misery and mystery
and when the solace hits the real
world canvas molecules collide and
deal with eachother, the creative force
iniating the contact on all that
was, all that once was that per-
fect little island where the mini-
malists run: free, wild, content,

trying to end the human world

and in the beginning, the expression
is fiery, perfect,
in and of
itself, but as it flows outward into that
our
their
island, it slows and permeates and
desperately tries to breath in the
energy that it traded, screaming
"you are
not me,
you are
not me,
you are not--"
the cooling mystery cascades with
my seamless expression, spraying
the coast with water that was once
cold--the steam rises
the latent lava
coo
ooo
ooo
oools
and our perfect little island is expanded

dream theory working in
duals.