Some Detached Words For Detached Thinkers Poem by Patrick Fleskes

With scissors at hand,

I dissect memories,

The pieces I'll collect,

The fragmentation of existence, bares collage,

This humble vessel,

The imperfect self,

Whom seems so human, not quite,

The wet, wrinkled, pasted image,

It's erratic tone and infliction,

Imperfect Beauty,

Is this temperamental existence!



Words mean nothin,

If there ain't no reality to attach,

Learnin' a new language,

Is learnin' a new perception of reality,

Can ya dig it?



Oh, wild child of dirt,

The day shall be yours,

Get back, you embryonic cell,

A man conceived of clay, dust and rain,

Carried down soft, by decay,

God let's us down slow...

Do your feet touch the floor,

Or the sky?

Ya got vertigo, child,

Lack identity, project someone else's memories,

The rusted cage, your mind,

The devil or the saint,

Keep your A B, simplistic, duality to yourself!

God is everyone,

A single perception,

And no one.