backtotop

Categories: poetry/ writing

I’d rather relay letters and forms than sounds and noises,
to reach you, inform you, extend to you,
my thoughts, prayers, hopes and even fears.
Sometimes oddities delivered sonically are a necessity.
The device calls to me and I just wish to respond to it.
There isn’t anything special I’m trying to say with it.
It’s more like simply relating to it or with it.
That is all there is to it.

I feel like an historian of my own life experience and cherished memories,
in no way for the lives of others or in their interests or benefit,
but solely for my own recollection and nostalgic voyages.
When I think of Sherlock I interpret the inspiration,
to inspect that which alights me instead of that which endangers society.
I turn to myself as an homage to that inspiration.
In essence I emulate in the only capacity I know.

Categories: poetry/ writing

Certainty is no longer here to stay.
Pressure to be entertainment for your lack of,
or insatiable addiction to.
Owing you something…
In fact owing you nothing at all.
Take and receive only what I feel like bestowing your way.
Whether free or paid,
it has no bearing on output.
The higher the pay,
the deeper the burden.
Gifts are preferable.
Transactions turned on their heads have the best ring to them.