full of holy pneumonia,
lungs flooded with baptismal coffee,
tap water and bean sprouts,
heated to keep me awake,
and with warm heart
shop and shuffle through the dime stores,
the whiskey breath pocket watches that hung from their whiskey breath owners,
ticking tunes of where the moments go,
why the gears grind,
and why we always run out time
i can reflect the words that have been fed unto me,
my silver spoon,
was really stainless steel,
the middle class of mass production,
here i am,
slurping up my illusionary field of comfort
here i am,
knocking on the door of what everyone called success,
finding empty house and cobwebs,
old sacrificial burning hearts praying for rain,
a system of storms,
to wash away all the glowing guilt,
and just live in that illusion of comfort
-----
the ledge you jumped,
perpendicular to the ways you made me feel,
while i walked around in the echo of footsteps,
i kept trying to find you,
while you kept trying to find you,
and the whole mistake was when i stopped looking for myself,
when the telescope opened up into a new sense of actualization,
i walked open to the ledge of tomorrow's forecast,
and spun disoriented with the sea sick thoughts
------
hideout shelter from the downpour,
while the lamps flicker on their last legs of light,
thunder reverb,
and the syncopated lightning written on my blood,
sermon of the storm riddled recluse,
eyetooth biting in with the sideways wind,
i remember the smell that came before,
and the whole disaster cleanup period to follow your reckless tornado attitude of choice making,
i'm still cleaning up all the mismatched parts,
and the piles of debris hidden in the corners of my thinking spells
------
it gets so loud some days,
when we wish we could shut off the switch to our over zealous analytical selves,
placed on shelves,
with the knick-knacks and rag dolls that have gone without our touch
everyone here has a way of talking about the news,
they all love to let you know how they watched it,
and they mourned over it,
and they stuffed the tear drenched tissues inside of their new leather bag,
and they patched all their sorrow with typed up words,
and they openly displayed their new found scars onto webs of digital spider legs
it gets so loud some days,
when we wish we could shut off the switch to all their over zealous emotionality,
placed on shelves,
with the books and the memories that have gone without their touch
-------
i ain't a god roller
------
voices waiver,
over the sea of noisy nothing talk,
play along,
get strung along,
bite the tongue of your chatterbox jawbone,
for everyone's sake,
but especially yours,
my mouth got a full taste of hemoglobin,
scarred tissue taste buds,
it's better sometimes to just get through
------
yesterday and today,
just a knuckle's length away,
like you and me
for every jesus christ,
there are machiavellian nights
when we shiver,
and sleep,
under the guilty moon
------
fold the ocean,
into an origami sunrise,
with glowing afterthoughts,
your best side is your left,
i can tell from here,
while i breath defeat into my mechanical lungs,
my hollow batteries,
sleep for another day,
find another home,
but lost every reason to worry
-----
cyan memories,
blurred focus,
a sub-par photo,
of passing smile
another milestone,
got forgotten,
another trophy,
in a cardboard box,
somewhere there's an attic
rotting wood,
and hazy moments,
of yesterday's lifetime
-------
arizona nighttime landscape,
electric flashes hitting the desert,
deserted with all the empty things we embraced in the name of being young,
words stitched into my brainweave,
every standing spirit that posed for you,
and all the ones eating into my memory,
solemn glances branded on my skin and cranium,
and the faces that still light flames inside my voicebox,
all these arguments i still have with myself when i'm alone
----
i was wading in knee deep dead grass,
a tidal wave of yellow hay fever,
searching the graves for names of people i really didn't know at all
----
lungs flooded with baptismal coffee,
tap water and bean sprouts,
heated to keep me awake,
and with warm heart
shop and shuffle through the dime stores,
the whiskey breath pocket watches that hung from their whiskey breath owners,
ticking tunes of where the moments go,
why the gears grind,
and why we always run out time
i can reflect the words that have been fed unto me,
my silver spoon,
was really stainless steel,
the middle class of mass production,
here i am,
slurping up my illusionary field of comfort
here i am,
knocking on the door of what everyone called success,
finding empty house and cobwebs,
old sacrificial burning hearts praying for rain,
a system of storms,
to wash away all the glowing guilt,
and just live in that illusion of comfort
-----
the ledge you jumped,
perpendicular to the ways you made me feel,
while i walked around in the echo of footsteps,
i kept trying to find you,
while you kept trying to find you,
and the whole mistake was when i stopped looking for myself,
when the telescope opened up into a new sense of actualization,
i walked open to the ledge of tomorrow's forecast,
and spun disoriented with the sea sick thoughts
------
hideout shelter from the downpour,
while the lamps flicker on their last legs of light,
thunder reverb,
and the syncopated lightning written on my blood,
sermon of the storm riddled recluse,
eyetooth biting in with the sideways wind,
i remember the smell that came before,
and the whole disaster cleanup period to follow your reckless tornado attitude of choice making,
i'm still cleaning up all the mismatched parts,
and the piles of debris hidden in the corners of my thinking spells
------
it gets so loud some days,
when we wish we could shut off the switch to our over zealous analytical selves,
placed on shelves,
with the knick-knacks and rag dolls that have gone without our touch
everyone here has a way of talking about the news,
they all love to let you know how they watched it,
and they mourned over it,
and they stuffed the tear drenched tissues inside of their new leather bag,
and they patched all their sorrow with typed up words,
and they openly displayed their new found scars onto webs of digital spider legs
it gets so loud some days,
when we wish we could shut off the switch to all their over zealous emotionality,
placed on shelves,
with the books and the memories that have gone without their touch
-------
i ain't a god roller
------
voices waiver,
over the sea of noisy nothing talk,
play along,
get strung along,
bite the tongue of your chatterbox jawbone,
for everyone's sake,
but especially yours,
my mouth got a full taste of hemoglobin,
scarred tissue taste buds,
it's better sometimes to just get through
------
yesterday and today,
just a knuckle's length away,
like you and me
for every jesus christ,
there are machiavellian nights
when we shiver,
and sleep,
under the guilty moon
------
fold the ocean,
into an origami sunrise,
with glowing afterthoughts,
your best side is your left,
i can tell from here,
while i breath defeat into my mechanical lungs,
my hollow batteries,
sleep for another day,
find another home,
but lost every reason to worry
-----
cyan memories,
blurred focus,
a sub-par photo,
of passing smile
another milestone,
got forgotten,
another trophy,
in a cardboard box,
somewhere there's an attic
rotting wood,
and hazy moments,
of yesterday's lifetime
-------
arizona nighttime landscape,
electric flashes hitting the desert,
deserted with all the empty things we embraced in the name of being young,
words stitched into my brainweave,
every standing spirit that posed for you,
and all the ones eating into my memory,
solemn glances branded on my skin and cranium,
and the faces that still light flames inside my voicebox,
all these arguments i still have with myself when i'm alone
----
i was wading in knee deep dead grass,
a tidal wave of yellow hay fever,
searching the graves for names of people i really didn't know at all
----