Dream?
Or Nightmare?
I collect faces as if they were sweet metaphysical breadcrumbs
Artistic avarice: I become fat with their images along the way
Yet still it is not enough simply to divine out their souls for presentation
I must constantly transcend the growing amalgam of identity
Push away the ego as if it were a salivating lover trying to lick my ear
Should I be forced to continue to exist as an object?
Very well then I choose to be symbols of my own machination
Living inside organisms of meaning as a cold hunter sheltered in the bleeding guts of a bear
My momentum is slimly, slow, but it oozes into every crack and crevice
Shall I be lucifer? It depends on how you define rebellion
Should I settle one day, like a bee to a flower?
Again, it depends on how much there is to suck out
©2017 Charles Harry Mackenzie. All rights reserved.
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