#159 staring back at me like a religion of photographs

i have bathed in the stream of consciousness under the featherbed pillows of reason and rhyme the dust under boxcars makes me sad like how the purple summer sun sometimes seems all alone it all means something doesn’t it it’s all nothing isn’t it staring back at me like a religion of photographs torn from a stranger’s journal or breastpocket an alchemist’s crucible the gloomy vessel of powdery failed attempts at dreaming in gold it all means something doesn’t it it’s all nothing isn’t it pound grommets into anvils of soap and birdfeathers string them with gossamer thread garments of hope it all means something doesn’t it it’s all nothing isn’t it bhagiti 9.25.07 perrysburg, oh