bleed me of my self-righteousness

It gets comfortable.

Here in the land of uncertain certainty.

Get a load of the guy next door.

Precision cleaning, minimalism because that’s the easiest way to control every detail.

I may have kept it from myself. Therefore I beg the question…

“Where’s the boundary?” It isn’t too clear.

Where’s the cap on my already limited thinking?

I need to keep it moving. Especially on the rainiest of days.

Cutting corners on sidewalks makes me feel uneasy.

I want to follow this with words I don’t use too much:

I am satisfied.

The branches hang low enough for me to reach.

I’m happy down here in the land of unattainable.

Will I stamp that on my forehead?

Probably not.

Will this memory stay still enough to circulate my brain and serve as a reminder for later?

Man, I hope so.

But what are words?

Get a load of the chaos in the sky?

The clouds hug the sunshine like oil paint to canvas.