Imbalanced Constipated with Emotion

Chimney fumes out black ashes swimming toward the blue sky and the chubby clouds. The fuel of coal and anger generates the turbine’s spin with wet steam. The general’s gaze turns in careful degrees to prevent the neck from breaking.

Neverending progress and the metal nature of reduction and nurture. The quiet thoughtfulness and enamored materialistic freedom. Chrome and gas. Comfort in size rather than the depth of connection.

The sliver of hope that someone will read the few words I had the chance to put down and it’ll influence their life. I wish. To think how you can fill the gaps others are searching for. The ruckus of random connections comes out naturally.

I do wonder about the empty feeling inside. Am I too present? Too self-reflective of the immediate moment? Thinking that omits all the good.