The Exoskeletal Demon Named Man

Daylight like repeated whiplash
looming, claws you everyday,
piercing through sleep
from fire
to the dawning of a still born shadow,
burning the scars
of memory,
of this human exigency.
Maya is the exoskeleton
to this demon
chained within.

Experience

I am,
perhaps,
in the pursuit of wisdom.

When oceans have disappeared
and other things surreal happen
I am lowered onto a scale of justice.

Knowledge is redundant.
Then I look towards my experiences,
I think,
there might be something there in those memories
to inspire immortality -
lay bare ambition
to an outside world.

I,
fear being devoid one day of a future.
I have put on
all that I have got to wear.
Still,
half a slanted eyebrow downward,
a face which shouldn't resemble anyone,
a voice whispering wordless songs -
lacking wisdom and experience...
disconnect my thoughts from
my experiences.

I fail even in imitation,
when I tire myself breathing.
I don't know what I was doing.
I despise this experience called life.

Yes maybe,
these aren't my thoughts, neither yours...
but come their occurrence, they
tick-tick my clock
and fulfill me somehow.

I don't know when these romantic notions expire
and experiences fail to conspire, my
world of lies. When...
When will knowing matter to you?

In being engulfed by the waves of existence
I am reminded of those sharp splashes against us
that seek our pains eternal
meaning only to hear all that we have got to tell.
These are indeed strange conversations.
Who might you share them with,
if not me?
I will learn to sew them into things.