I wrote this while taking a shit

I find myself thinking about how the hollow tree survives      
and see myself as a thing ripened only to die.      
A fishy pussy stole my cat,      
now excuse me while I make my four day spaghetti.      
The bar draws me near,      
tempts me with roudyness and cheers.      
I cannot pass by its cool beat      
played across hot streets by funky cats on repeat.      
If the crowd claps too long    
the band has to pause....      
I dig the pauses.      
Here's to women who stand in doorways      
dancing wildly while the music plays,      
stomping their feet and clapping hands ecstatically.      
True organizers of kindness events      
where support of expression lasts until the final drip      
of art has left its freedom vessel or empty bottle.      
Conversing with friendly faces      
that are involved in daily nesting of goodness      
ideals.      
Mothers of pureness.      
Flowing these channels just to become trapped      
in the crannies of our societies.      
Let the graffiti artist scribble his thoughts like a breeze      
while laying on empty bags of chips with ease      
cold and tired      
of the gravity.      
With all that we have, we never stop      
needing to be full.      
This moon is enough    
high in the sky tonight.      
Can't stop looking up when the clouds pass,      
and even more when they don't.      
Some people starve underneath moving feet      
and crosswalks.      
Against brick archways      
with eyes gazed      
on the rise of the waterways      
risking flooding.      
I want distance from the danger,      
but to be closer to its chaotic flowing dynamite.      
The way the river blasts change through narrow gapes      
and forces progress      
down canyons of unstable foundations of  
yesterdays lazy construction practices.      
I want distance from the sick      
parts that bring me down to dark places,      
but I don't want that distance to disclude me        
from still being loved.      
Fear of loneliness is putting me      
in a worse situation than if I was actually alone      
and lonely.      
No person knows the words I tell myself      
while taking a shit  
which is not where I wrote this but I have  
shits to give about it.  
And no one but myself holds me      
accountable      
to the promises I keep.      
Chasing after ghosts on a crowded street,      
lost searching      
for the things I never had in the first place,      
in the worst of ways.      
Feeling bitter and knowing the Lochness existed yesterday.      
Betrayed by the hive of humanity and its many needs.      
Do I actually need more honeys?      
Do bees need a queen to keep their young from getting hungry?      
Mustache ridden skateboard driven madman      
on a quest for dread in a secret cell      
keeping my composure after I fell      
onto a combination-lock of self doubt      
and now left staring into reflecting pools of wisdom      
where my ancestors once were filled with doubt      
resisting bishops and baptisms.      
Hanging upside down for nine days,      
with a stabbing pain in my side,      
only afterwards am I gifted with the words to speak.      
Dichotomy, Kavanah, intent.      
The wheels keep spinning      
while I keep barking at the dirt.      
Scared shitless but with a lot of shits to give.      
A lot of admiration for the illimitable spirit      
who reveals itself in the slightest details      
that surround      
our feeble minded perceptions.  
The candle went out.    
This mind that confuses the feels from  
actual  
factual      
emotions.      
Swimming with Fossegrim underneath waterfalls      
while playing violin melodies        
majestic.      
Floats across the surface tides      
and reflects      
the birds, the trees, the ants      
and even      
the blind, deaf and lame      
will dance to nature's troubadour.      
The pondering of a hollow tree still standing      
digging roots into a litterbox      
of shits to give.      
To leave or to be left?      
To bumble or to leap off of the cliff?