rude awakenings

There are ants all over my counter. Climbed out from the crack between the dishwasher and the wall. up the lip of the granite counter top and strait to a lid of sugar water where twenty or so ants have drowned. but these ants are smarter. They perch on the lip, their feelers moving frantically as they slowly lower down and drink. Drink till their abdomens are swollen and golden when the light passes through. they depart in a line the way they came, their heavy bodies only making it slightly more difficult to descend the sheer vertical edge of the countertop. More and more come, seeking this oasis to bring back to their colony, but little do they know it will soon be the end of them. They taste the sweetness, not the sharpness of borax, the stench of death they're carying back to their children and their lovers, assuming the dosage isn't to high and they die before they make their way back, having travelled many ant miles only to be burned from the inside with the harsh chemical

I want you to want me to be the me you see when I'm free to be the me that got you next to me. I kissed your forehead as we fell back down to earth. purged in the fire of a pheonix's rebirth. I opened your third eye and drank your dripping energy held you so close I felt your heart clammoring behind your bones I let it's rhythm and it's tones run ripples right through me, your energies renew me. And as our hearts beat against our ribcages it gauges the incitement of excitement we're making, taking the time to find the beauty behind each caress we posess the capacity to escape, in reckless audacity. See I've got a pretty decent cape in my closet. we can don our suits in the noble pursuit of preserving this world we're endlessly creating, shaping it with our minds when we take the time to find the beauty behind each caress. We've been blessed with an amazing connection, an undying affection, a corporeal reflection of a divine creation, a sacred collaborati

Do you need me? I am here. Slipped into your pocket with your car keys my breath staining the fabric of your thoughts. I've never been more sure of something and yet so utterly confused. Why must you be so easy, and be so perplexing too. Everytime I sit down to write about you I cannot get it right. You're grey area. You're everything-white and nothing-black, mixed and mingled. You're a walking contradiction, living breathing paradox. Catch-22 and I'm caught in your web.

Now that I've seen you Stripped to the very core I know that I need you More than I did before. I steal their phrases snatching ideas like they were pliable concrete and holdable My mind can''t string the words together. Today is all we see. So tomorrow -it seems to me- is only an illusion we believe.

Saw an awful commercial. New Kleenex hand towels. "Why use the same dirty hand towel over and over? Now you can forget about the bacteria, with a new towel every time! With new Kleenex disposable hand towels." GAH! if you don't want dirty towels, it's called washing them. You don't need to fill the landfills with needless trash, just because it's convenient. As if there's no repercussion to becoming a waste producing clone. But we've been lead to believe that there is no downside Why would anyone buy something environmentally unfriendly? If we knew it was damaging, it would be way harder to sell. [even though this is so blatantly unfriendly of a product.] So the businesses simply sweep that part under the rug attempting to catch us on the hook of convenience. It's been the same thing, time and time again, for the past seventy years. We've slowy been turned into consumer drones, through the driving force of convenience. Not caring about our impa