Max is NOW!

pretentious little fingers
thought and abstract time
running up and down the phrases
finding weakness in words and rhymes
wondering about tomorrow
wandering throughout today
constant flowing cheek and tounge
ever knowing not what will come

god i sit as a man, under influence
of impotence and omniscience and time
time, time, sweet little ticks
of that turning clock we age
and strolling through the next memory
i find its not me, its we
its us, not us, its there,
i fear that thwack of the minute hand
but i cannot stop it,
its not for me to stand

so i write myself here,
down in this place
i type each letter with a amount of grace
finding the love of my life, its me
but once i see him clearly he,
he hides again, among the echelons
and the stars and sea, and everything,
everything i can never be, or ever want,
or ever see, but none the less, its here, its me

it drinks so deeply, complex whiskey
finding a path to my better writing
slipping through the cracks and splits
of heaven, ever so very slightly
and fallen upon my ass, rejecting his holy sight
i look upon the moon and company
thumping it, playing the golden symphony
of angels and angels gathered all to see
the ultimate illusion, of man
divulged into the thick of thins
this, this our falsetto scream
the ever-so-quiet reality