getting back

put the paint on the paper,
watch the colours run down,
I feel like I'm waiting,
for my luck to turn around,

thoughts start exploding,
like salmon from a stream,
like an ancient Zen symbol,
I know just what it means,

a force pushing from the outside,
against an opposite force within,
I try to transcend the fools,
preaching salvation and sin,

look what it gives you,
one contingency to the next,
too busy texting and tweeting,
no time left to reflect,

a quest for the plastic and hollow,
when there's more to behold,
rivers of colour,
flow through the folds,
into the cold, dirty street,
where the flesh of reality,
and the bones of our principles meet.