Tomorrow I will lay on the floor, adjacent to my bed, and think about the stuffed animal I never had as a child.
The day after that I will bang my head against a mime's wall as he gestures with his feet to 'go away and eat three beans.'
Two days after the mime incident I will cry.
The day before I cry, I will not cry.
The day before that I will rest.
Yesterday I will use incorrect syntax to create a piece of post-modern drivel.
In a year I will be born and two decades ago I will listen to a recording of myself typing an masterpiece.

In exactly 1 hour and thirty7 minutes I will.

The misty morning moaned through great spiritual fogs, while the dogs lay exhausted on the tombstone curbs. A black car crept and the driver had no hands. In the purple screaming clouds were the faces of a thousand dead birds, hawking about, calling inscrutable names, grasping at imaginary worms from the trees of the burning wood.
Where have I gone?
The grey meandering man licked his lips as sullen death encapsulated the brittle bones and every step was bringing him closer to the ashen ground from whence the monsters came. A phosphorescent haze would whirl and dance in sweet contortions, a dance for the dead, as the night fought day with ecstatic swords.

The sun is crying.
The son is crying.

Halt for the watchmen, bats in hand and gloves hanging from belt loops. Halt while the lands are molested and the peasant sneers at waves that hum and bring about simultaneous life and death.

Open the door! Open it wide.
Life is the eternally beating drum
The drum from which we hide.

I existed[1]

Blessed Love My Lord and Empress

Praise be to Haile Selassie I
Raise me from Earth's ashes
Sacrament to Jah, my soul sings
Your son I praise him, Haile Selassie I

Garvey come and spread word, glorious words
Freedom of a people, Zion land, it waits with love
Praise be to Talaqu Meri, let his lands grow green
His Imperial Majesty, walk with me

Empires dazzle eyes, black Empress at the steps
Her robe draped with tender caress, love, Jah
Prophet man sing, rasta man sing, we all love Jah
In death Haile Selassie I looks over I and I, love Jah
Over Babylon the skies rain freedom on Jah people

The ants were lied to
As their wooden homes burned down
Foolish little ants

Stood at the precipice of the world, a shadow cast
The oceans were dry, no greenery was breathing
A button that ended the lives of billions, pressed
And since that time the people have all been leaving
The cosmic family, their neighbours, were all grieving

We are the ants now
Our homes are catching light now
We can stop this how?

I shift swiftly from the window sill
Fearless after forlorn grievances
Hey Taylor you have me believin'
Failed love stories, you're just teasin'

Eighteen years and I reached maturity
Listened to your ballads, felt amorous
I can't ask that you'll write me a song
I must confess, I think of you all day long

I want you to see me, white horse mounted
Rescue you from a life rebounding
I raise a hand and pray to the lord
But you're the reason for the teardrops on my keyboard

Why can't you see... me?
Are we meant to be?
I would hold your hand,
let your soul fly free.

I

The characters on the ashen keyboard were faded, now yellow smudges remain
and the words that once danced like clouds in his mind had been evacuated
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was wrong
while the shredder destroyed the lives of every personality he had created
(God's fading smile)
Littering the floor were the shards of paper, twisted and unnerving
Thin strips made new languages, new words, forlorn dictionary
Grasping at the shreds, our writer assembled a masterpiece
Seward on the Ouija board, advice from beyond
(Joyce laughed from) the grave

Scrawling longhand in a notebook on a jaunting bus through the city
No eye-contact, no interaction, careful contemplation
To the river he headed, concrete conscience
Writing nothing

Careless disregard for the laws of language
While they shunned his intellect
and tore pages before him
Scornful

No education, just a passion for words
Running away from his sadness
and learning that it don't stop
Ripples in the water
Single raindrop
Stop.

II

Start,
A tear fell backwards
Wrinkles in the brow begin to fade
Experiencing happiness for the first time, sweet joy
Sprinting in reverse, looking for the smile, return to a face
Think back to schoolyard glory and the books that were once relished

Admiration
They glued his life together
Praising the grinning genius before them
Careful preparation, consulting his Bible, The English Dictionary

Writing everything
To the world he was headed, mind free of guilt
Shaking the hands of a thousand folk, the happiness in a community
Caressing the keys of a pristine writing machine, black ink perfection on a white page

(Joyce sighed from the grave)
Seward on the Ouija board, applauded from beyond
Grasping at his hands, "this writer assembled a masterpiece"
Thin pages made new languages, new words, pregnant dictionary
Littering the coffee tables of many a home, words of beauty and precision
(God's enlightened gaze)
While the printer confirmed the lives of every personality he had created
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was correct
and the words that once drifted like clouds in his mind, now bees making honey, eternal hive
The characters on the immaculate keyboard were dazzling, free from corruption and scrutiny