The Fargo Kantrowitz'z Literary Campsite

when the day dream becomes a hum
then you stop and listen
and hear nothing distinct
but know you must decipher something
if you are to keep from drowning
in the inner fuzz born of a world too large,
too too much for unconscious man.
We lean into punches given out freely,
feel them, request them from others
so as to feel and know that maybe
there is such thing as force, a force,
something that can move
the cloud-wrapped buzz of the brain.
but we don’t conceive brain, only cloud
and that silent buzzing, that hum
moving us into the future.
thoughtless and blind but moving,
ever moving, oh yes,
and we must grasp the sides fearful
and the fathers we claim
never seem to be moved by the same.
Some come to grow the world
others to destroy,
but many don’t know the difference.
All they see is force that penetrates us
a real live being in the diaphanous nothing
of our unfortunate invisible non-views so pliable
If we place anything inside
as rescuer of our unconscious
it is all physical prowess imagery.
We are intrigued by death for sure
because it proves most that we exist.
Big desperate human-like symbols arise
and are paramount to we the unknowing
giving birth to demagogues,
thieves in saviors clothing