foggy age

the sounds fade away
fatigue crawling up to my eyes

words in clusters dont make sense

the simple soul songs
working class folk songs with easy repetitions
smooth chord progressions
classic guitar

lets sing along

the masterpieces keep getting printed
in this day and age rampant with “information”
entertainers and writers alike
we claw for art
and yet high art is somewhat foggy

who appreciates the unknown

dreaming of avant garde capitalism
i’m too spoiled to write my poems on the back of fallen leaves
i’m on my phone
airdropping my feelings onto my macbook
recording them
posting them online

gotta make a presence

the artist is isolated and yet so connected
the world does not allow for complete isolation
the writer must live amongst the people
write and tell the tales of those around
one must write
one must create
one must put forth his writing

one must keep writing

speak to an audience
while in my creative coccoon
where no one can influence
unless i let them

in this coccoon i interact
i socialize
i express
i perform
and in this coccoon i amplify my emotions and carefully spill them
splatter them onto my page

one must keep writing in this foggy age

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