Stethoscope

What am I gonna do?
How is this gonna work?
I have twisted the cement blocks inside my head until they shrivel
like chicken wire against the electrical fence gauntlet that I throw myself against daily.
Such Promethian heroism put against the zeitgeist
Or have I an even more pretentious and Dimmsdaleian approach?
Says said maybe such bunch baby red?...
Letters that I use to color the make up of my existence?...
The twisted crimson waves of that pulse upon the wakening lucidity only obfuscate the problems of my silly, simple ebb and flow; archaic mess in the muddy tide pools of the very simple on-goings of my heretofore, here to from, here to hence and so forth...

I cannot afford to waste time and yet it is all I do - It is all I do.

Stop me, stop me oh, oh, oh, stop me. Stop me if you've heard this one before.

Here's what I thought:
Like in the here and now and in the here and how the bitch upstairs will not stop stomping around like her bitch ass is better than the rest of us and me and my fucking belly aches hurt. They fucking sting and then in a drunkenness the lady upstairs pours cocktails into the septic tank and U and I lap them up and still she stinks she thinks the mess of a world where her frustrations are the whiskeys that sting my tongue and spill my soul, they are the motivations that reap the worlds of my attention and the selfish praise that is heaped upon the waking of the populous. It is only wasted breath as is the most usual of wasted brearh and is of wasted breath which is breath. To do right, upon right, doing right of some ordinary script. But still there is the mystici9scm there is the unknown of the wanting to know of something.
How long must this desire persist in the epic reach dare dreams of glory hog forthright fuckyouness of the gods dying and praying of what the needs of hunger are to the point that there is no concept of right.?
How far will mercy?
How far will you take mercy?
Militant questions about dying donkeys in desserts and what did you do to feed the needing monkey of a mule who wanted to know what is what was what i what was to know the was of wasing and being to the point of just an existent to satisfy that was.
And then there are bare the bottle the meanness, the things the would teach me in the needing of the night.
Somehow the sounds of a key board clack and numerical innovations of something that might matter seem like they would feed the need to be needed
...And yet I am the lonely man who cannot stomach the necessary definitionalizing of necessity...
there is only is and the gone of goneness and the problems that scream in between are not my problem,
NOT MY PROBLEM,
NOT MY PROBLEM.
THERE IS ONLY these realizations that peace may be beyond human comprehension - in that frustrated poverty only epitomizes our incomprehension, then love, then no, then sex, then NO, then the child, then the essence of certain beauty and all those images of important longing;
simple thoughts and pathetic regret
the mirrors of those thoughts,
to repeat the same mistake
over... and over again...
that the ship is righted,
to hate and love.

Of course, acknowledging the general mistake of the heart beat.