If creation is not the answer to the conscious
Is it the releasing of the pain
If you held yourself up to the habit
Wouldn’t everything be a spiral
I’d like to write over my writings
I want to use words to show not to say

There is an awakening
I see your froth
There is no truth to him
Content in this lonely crowd
Sedated and silently watch
He is put down and his face covered
The land is an uproar

I am content with dust
I am not the conqueror of sleep
I shall be released from the thrashing of things
Beneath and above
At the end of longing

I am done with-
Thoughts
And corridors
And narrow memories. I thought
I was dreaming but I could never wake
I do not recall who I was and where I walked
And who I met and how
I don’t ask to breathe easier
Just to sleep covered