I Like to Write Stuff

Visions dancing dirty window
dust beams glazed like drugged eyes
we die collectively.
Call me in your weakness and blame me
my shoulders are broad enough;
Give me something to work with.
From one side to the other,
I've spent and been
spent.
It is this thing we hold
in the palms of our frail hands.
It is the culmination of our incomptetence
and the separate reality....
it i the transaction of our analysis,
and the emptiness of our faith.
It is the lack of conviction behind our words,
and the sound of rain.
and windshield wipers that should have been changed
years ago.