The bag is open,

Mindless thought tripping under the noise

                                                              (a

                                                               c

                                                               h

merely a blockage;

we wish for life)

In these busy days.

We resent empty air

(I'm writing inspired by

chips on my shoulder,

chips taken in,

shit,

devolved;

this poetry is

      mine   and

      yours

for the taking.)

The empty air that we breathe,

inouthold and then beg for it

                                          (o stay;

once you find purity,

it's so hard to l se),

Choking on air much too heavy for me to

Chip away at yet,

Choking on these thoughts that slip in through

Chipped doorways beaten

                    down.

(    below myself for the time being

                I am merely

)

Empty the air.

Rip apart your seems,

Trip within the noisesilencedentschips

The          w

             h      o

               l   e             life can leave,

If only to learn to dance 

(in 

            empty                         

                                                       ).