Favorite quote of the week is from the old testament....
"Dye your mind not your garment."

and here is something I wrote:

Its like wearing brass knuckles to yoga class.
Its like headbutting yourself.
Its like an endless cosmic priapism,
a grip that loosens on our passing and leaves us tight.
Properties listed about us,
figures made into real people,
tables replace water,
the inside of the box coats the surface of our planet.
Planned coincidences and charted maps of feelings.
As the coil tightens I remove layers of ability
only to find my well without a bottom, why should I fill it?
Consequence is as illusory as being,
Creative movement is always being asked
but where can creativity really rest on this
uneasy landscape I flex and stretch.
Suppose I lived alone
Suppose the world was me
What does supper pose as?
Reality is concrete and fleeting
like what comes out of the truck before it hardens.