Phases

I came to this late still late
from all the past nuances of imagination,
of self-creation - seems like I've been
this and that thing a distraction,
but always interesting nonetheless -
kept me busy filling my head with garbage -
things to have no care about -
pushing them to their limits, as far
as I could go - invariably not far -
and now this the final one -
and now nothing will be left to fill this space
- keep it empty still empty - and the peace will last a moment until a flowing over will menace me
- something else.
And I keep at it over and over
and the fill foments a second cry -
we will make this place livable again and
hope mad desires stay away - some heroic fantasy -
some pride - and make this the last in a
tide of things to be confessed and split into
the ground.