Existence

We are
This pimpled ill-conditioned
Mere excess of comfort;
Is this a dawn of a new state
Or a form of no touch torture?
For you will find we out trip
All praise and make it halt
Behind us - flaunting
Superiority even as we laud.

(So many words,
What I want but cannot say,
Come down on me at once.)

I need my pillow angel.
Ready to drop upon me
when waking, cry to dream.
Do I evade
The clogging of awareness?
Conscience.
Me:
A deeply superficial person.
I am or they are superficial.
I remain home dying my eyebrows
To measure them in inches.
Them: the metronome of society.
Flying smoothly
These depths of heights
A dream.
But shallowness deceives,
So we dumbly stare
Finding space measured
Not infinite.
The crust of our stance
Rings. Shatters
The ever opened eye,
Giving blindness, not light.
Shutting the shades.

I need never be ashamed
Though we are nothing
Longing nothing
Proud of ignorance,
For I am two with nature.