He Busied on , Not Knowing

What His Dreams Will Get Him

He’d Hoped that His Own Poems Can

Belong to the Realms of the Aesthetics

(Although the Closer He Got, the More Desolate the Landscapes Became)

what it felt like, surrounded by this never-ending void, not my photo…

Every Day is the Last

Every Dream, the Very Last of Its Kind

In the Thundering Shower

The Flames of that Ordinary and Practical Life

Burned Up, and Bounced Around

He’d Written Two Lines

Then, Forced Himself to Delete a Paragraph

His Account Was Hacked Again

He is So Very Busy, but Without a Plan B

He is Busy Because

Knowing that This World is, Flourishing

(Don’t Over Plow the Land)

After He’d Shaved

He’d Stared in the Mirror

Every Morning, He’d Gone There, to Offer His Condolences

don’t talk to me, mind’s on VACATIONS here!!!  Not my picture…

He’d Stayed, Adrift, Toward that Place Far, Far Away…………

Knowing, that He Won’t Be

Compelled, to Leave Any Sort of a

Form of Himself Behind

Oh, How He’d Hoped, to Make a Sort of a Juice Right This Very Moment

To Switch Out the Bad Lucks He’d Had Through the Years

Cooling Him from the Cores

Day After Day, Just Drink Continually

That Partners, Who Was

Willing to Sit Forever Beside Him

For a Thousand Years

Says Who, He Hadn’t Been, Looking Very Hard for?

He’s Busy

He’d Not Admitted Defeat

Surrounded by Those Buttons and the Screen Daily

(Although the Sun & the Moon Eventually Turn Blind Each and Every Day)

He’d Still Kept in Mind that

The Twitches He’d Had in His Dreams———

Aren’t They All, Beautiful, Just the Same?

Even If They’re, Nowhere Near the Definitions of Beauty

Fine

But, He’d, Deceived Himself:

This Place, Could’ve, Originally, Been, the Realm of Love

too far from reality, that I don’t know how to get back down!!!  Not my picture

Looks like the narrator here, refuse to SNAP out of it, because it works way better in his own imaginations, than reality had, and, if he’s only using that as a temporary escape, then, it would be okay, because we ALL need to space out, to get away, to drift off into space, but, if this becomes a habit for this person, then, he’ll just, drift farther, farther, farther, from his reality, until he can’t even, cope with living in the REAL world anymore, so, this would be, a BAD coping mechanism that the narrator’s using…