This feels a lot like writing through a strainer,
The words pour forth,
As if being dropped out of a glass,
And is filtered and ripped apart,
As if blended from the start.

It is hard to look at the world and see it as great.
With the wars, the oppression, the telemarketers
Constantly hounding at you,
Begging for your change,
I am starting to believe they misunderstand the meaning of the word.

Change.
It is not a thing to be thrown around lightly.
It is as new, and strange, and as fundamental as Jesus.
However, this one will have less wine.

Yet as useful as Wine and jesus are,
There still exists that block.
That mountain in your face,
Daring you to test it's patients.

I always thought, "That's why God build the bomb."

So there it lay,
The last of a once great mountain,
Destroyed for the sake of artistic brilliance.
Oddly enough, I fail to see the light.
Perhaps, I am not looking in the right place.
Perhaps I do not posses the brilliance to see it.
Or perhaps I need a little more Vodka to convince me I know anything.
Well, "refill" has always been such a wonderful word.