The 2:00 pm nap

Scanning aimlesly, the pages of thought.
Thumbing through the novel of my mind, looking for pictures.
As I lay in solice, gazing towards the shadows of palm trees
dancing on my celing, casted through the window of my
third floor apartment.
Arms crossed, a thin layer of cotton, blankets my ice tipped toes;
as the sub tropical breeze rips through my sun conditioned skin.

Although solitude, my only companion,
mine eyes gazing upwards, still capturing every word,
of the novel in my mind. The story of my being.
Constant reading, still no pictures, staring at the mosaic the sun creates upon the wall of my dwelling.
I lay almost to rest, encapsulated by the beginning of the next chapter.
The years of indifference, when care was not an object,
it was non existant.

Searching for the picture among a thousand words,
I am the simpleton who must attain the gratification of what is real.
All the words, all the pages represent nothing.

At last I gaze upon the photograph of my life.
I now see.
I now lay in rest knowing what it really portrays.

As I fall into sleep a smile becomes my stare, drifting into the two hour abyss.

As the novel falls gently upon my weary chest,
I lay to rest the story of my existance.

The six million lie

Radiant were the wings of the angel,
dismissed by the blade of the machete.
Elegant in grace, ripping flesh, with every movement of flight.
Deception of the eye, decrepit to the faint of mind,
enduring tendancies of false proclivities exponged
amidst a carcass; filled with the squalor of impure matter.

Take beauty in flight, impaler of the innocent,
crucifier of the realistic notion.

Desguise the demise of the simplicity of truth.
Slashing fields of thought, reaping tortured remnants.
Harvesting in solitude, to share thine acquisitions among,
the void exile of no one.