Kite String

Is it in my own solitude?

Wondering why, 

it's so recurring to my mind;

Like television all the time

Suburban warm nights,

Aptitude of awake without any fight

Alone in the thrill of the-

lonesome landline;

Head clear and life nearer

Wandering into the overhead street lights,

Pale and fluorescent, morgue bright;

Musically ecstatic being free like a kite on a string:

Contradiction glaring, like bad bleeding from no beating;

Nothing, noting from nothing-

Imaginary concessions from out of touch dreams;

Baggage is a soiled seam,

Self-sewn, itching and ripped up-

reiterated stitches in mixed-

Conjecture,

Interjection, 

Conscientious objection in liberatory degeneration;

Detective unrelenting, Disneyland confetti,

Liability in listless serendipity

Misguided in introspective relationally constraining legibility