Joey Thate

Thoreau seeks truth, in all
Could believe in, or nothing
It’s a tear drop of a cheesy movie
Or a mezcla in a porcelain bowl.
Its like morning dew
Like fruit loops.
Like autumn,
Like beer freshly brewed,
Syntactical in its design but.,
There’s an arrow in the center point of chaos
In every half food particle digested
Like fish, swimming aimlessly…so we think
But only searching for the fluorescent friends
In the deep seas of the ocean
The light spectrum blinds me
For I know not what it reads
I only know the visuals in which I partake
The rapture
Obscure toilent activity
As if a genius being accosted
With him thinking beneath
The unexplained ill-behavior
Which roars up to the top of the bowl
As it was a sand bar in an indecisive manner
But it has no choice with the uncontrollable fish
To climb upon the shore
It seems as if, the shore…
Could be the vinyl floor,
Of which I swept many times my facial hair
The morning before
Undoubtedly, seeping through the unmaintained cracks
Of wasted times, of hiding my emotions
But the truth bleeding though
For a hopeful experience
Of being buried, but not ready to dig
Scaping the surface, just high enough to feel the blades of grass
Recognizing my tears of experience, or my experience by itself
Are not ready to retire