Space that welcomes matter strains from its presence.
We consume the empty and overcome the pains of self suffocation.
It's liberating pollution to become entangled in accumulation.
There was a day that I could walk two feet and be at peace with this solution.
Material: the matter from which something is made.
Do we matter?
Are we madder than before, when we were free from it all?
To be tied to the concept of an ever growing, filling, and faux-fulfilling inundation.
To be a part of a multiplying multifaceted material faction in a world of matter attraction.
A nation that has taken station at the verge of: please purge for your space is dwindling.
It's a prison—risen from the depths of desire.
A fire that burns on a heap of coal—destined to be ash.
We wish for a crash, a course to the thrift shop, or a yard sale.
I long to derail by way of sail into an ocean of air and a lack of things.
I wonder what that brings.
Copyright © 2012 Justin Daniel Tew