Condensation

There are people who know about meaning.
Their optimism breathes with belief,
revealing all the pictures I drew as a kid
on the glass in the back seat;
those marks that framed the
static-y, speed-fractured outside scene.
I knew back then how to deal with blankness.
Before it thickened and
my eyes blurred out the foreground.
Before I gave in to gazing at miles

of wasteland, dried rivers and rusted machines.
Before I felt the pressing down of a white sky

as it slowly hammocks with rain.

But there are people who know better

than to be absorbed by this

heavy nothing.

A primary school aged child could tell you,

this is condensation.

You have to draw something into it.

.... i think this is the most obtuse my writing has ever been. maybe it makes some sense? i hope so.

news:

i went to grove tonight. it was wonderful.

i am drawing all sorts of things right now.