Illinoir

closerlook,inc. knows all about thought leadership.

but i’d be hard pressed to give you a definition….

so tired. so something….think i ate a bad sandwich. terrible taste in my mouth. let’s keep on finding things to bitch about….my eyes hurt. there’s soooo much noise.

the thing of it is…. eh, who knows what the -thing- of it is.

the crunching, the pounding, the constant run-around-ing the mess of the mistrust the platitudes and disgust, i’ve never been clever but if you stop to think about it i’ve always been certain and i would never doubt it.

many times i am simply boring —

but even though i am cleaned up

i am never clean

and i make that distinction clearly

for no reason whatsoever.

and then you remember the depression

that sets in when you remember how it was

i don’t want anything that you think i want

and it’s all because i think too much

every stain every mark that i’ve made

every trail i’ve left behind me

washed away but not forgotten

data screaming through my head

at point of no return

free another stream of information

to the empty world

and noone to receive it

too much enthused

too freely spaced out

too heady in the levee

it’s a war inside my head

too often refused

too often left out

too heavy is Gene Levy

it’s a war inside my head

if i have to let life work out through serendipity

i’ll always wonder what would happen

if i stayed five minutes longer

or left five minutes sooner

my paths won’t cross and i’ll never know

the people that i know…

Gone are the days….

too much change, my eyes barely staying open

bored in spite of it all — i’ve seen change before

there’s nothing new under the sun — the sun’s not even out

i’ve got too much to complain for and not enough

to keep me awake through the day

blessed are we who we are — blessed are my yawning

cries for help, my pickled panic button worn thin

from obsessive fondling and perhaps excessive pushing.

can i even face these people another day? can i ever turn around and say, alright, now i trust you again…trust you to fuck me over again…trust you to let me handle my own way my own way….

sure, face me with this, upturned toward my drowsiness,

the downfall of my laziness.

the rise and fall of sudden breath so jolting, jarring,

reminiscent of something….else.

my own breath perhaps, taken slowly in this sleepy room

and the sounds of approaching summer

on the street: the beeping of a backing truck;

construction grinds; and con men.

a warm body floats freely

and has weight

and isn’t there

my warm body is lonely,

weighs too much

and doesn’t care