Iam's

This one needs a bit more editing, but I'll throw it up there for comments/viewing.

If I wanted to be an entrepreneur

The only innovation I could offer

Would be ways to sell myself

Now I am happy

Now I am relaxed

Now I am bold

Now, I am tired of the iambs

So I would shout every trochee

If messages could actually escape me

If the sound waves could reach civilization, or nature,

Or anything outside of this Alcatraz island on which I self-wreck

I am conceptually confined

Within a prison built of bars

Of Self-hymns and self-hate

Where substantial thought

Is necessarily always worn away by the incessant brain waves

Of self-absorption, until only grated, scorching fragments

Stand under my feet

If only I could launch out to sea

For Blind Homer could see that

Helen had a face to launch a thousand ships

But I only have the hell in facing my own immobility

For I am still-sick, but I long to be motion-sick.

Long gone from this island

Where my speed of departure can only be measured

In knots that untangle in my gut

And from around the sinusoidal grip on my psyche

And so I would barter all my iam words and thoughts

To be an immigrant on a strange ship

Underneath a single Constellation that could guide me to a foreign land

Or even a whole new galaxy

Because recently self has been the only universal

In my universe of a sucking black hole

So there is no dimension

Or rather life is only 1-Dimmensional, I-Dimmensional,

But life is so much fuller

I trust

And I still remember

Therefore Give me but one frontier, the first frontier

From tears, from smiles, from here, from there

But not from me, not from I am

Give me the royal we,

Or just you

Or just he

I long for the tempest

Or Climate change

Sink this Altcataz island

And let me see if I can float.

Or if you could, build me a railway out of this prison

Strap me to a locomative and call me conductor

So it is physically possible for me to once again

soak back up external energy from

Faith

Altruism

Biology

PINEAPPLE

Next time we speak

I hope we speak of unthinkably mundane

As long as it’s not stuck in the mud of this muck

Cuz, as you’ve seen, I’m stranded by habitual choice

And am starting to go selfishly insane.