poetry...

in the trajectory of existence
replenished as i become exhausted,
altitude rush thought bridge bewilder crushing
nowhere nothing everywhere everything all around
surrounding streaming breathing like cathedral ceiling
ONE ONE tempo time signature breathing, no choice
but a freedom prisoner everywhere i go.

Locked into the dormant phase where no one cares nor do they know
I do not show extravagant signs of being a member of the dead alive.
No need to discuss this phenomena at all times, but to be at
peace in solitude, silence. Memoirs of a soul unknown, becoming
discovered by being alone. On the side, forgotten corner, taking too long,
they are rushing me. This is official, that i finally have gotten somewhere
where i'm supposed to be?

Just let me have my own energy, to battle the windchill from
friends and foes. My karma is good, I KNOW he'll listen
and shine down on my absent world. Endeavors can
be composed and sang next to other worldly melodies,
ominous and foreboding. I have become detached in
a specific sense of this word, subject to being the victimized
wise, feeling the glare of my brother's eyes.

Machine knitted weirdos, bottled spirit ciders and scythes
seething a seminar redundant, same is close to being same.
I don't know where I am today.

-Chelsea Bruno
January, 2008