The TV is Blaring

(Hey this a newer one and still maybe a work in progress)




The TV is blaring.
Ain't that some bullshit
I got myself wrapped up in.

The silence returns
and feels good,
warm and stable,

and fruitful.

The book of poets
that should be by my bed
is missing.

I still dream of it though.

Hard cover, green material,
and someones god
scrawled along the inside.

For now though,
that is a hard bridge to cross,
and the mental capacities are used up
in other ways.

Electrons.
Hiesenberg.
The fruits of a different god.

A more demanding one,
where Math and Vectors
are the Kings and Queens.

A world so mysterious and bright
that even more straight lines
moving in a forwards direction
could not impede up on its beauty,

because I believe
humans and consciousness
and art and math
coalesce somewhere
in the 4th dimension,
and are attatched to Pluto,
or anything else
ranging across this
great complexity
with eternal and intimate
strength.