in a time of peace and love to float
scarred the baby embraces being shook
backward forwards into the coat
we flip through pages of the book

like a sigh we're fading away
to the stars and the moon we see
time allows us to embrace May
you have meant so much more to me

than people elision the star
we are crossin' everyon' over
(to smell the smell of your pretty car
that i've never been in all sober

always i'll be here sitting You
beauty change metamorphoses
your Love your Peace we are both two
all of these i'll take all of these

Little bud
rosebud
tiny soft and naked
waiting for spring
at times it seemed
you would fit into my hand
with one clasp I encompass
your entire being
and I would smell and taste
your sweet disorienting scent

So stilled my hand
with each breeze and each breath
waited for the perfumed brush
a scented sting on my skin
in an ancient language
I knew it was futile to translate or resist

Passing by
a poised snail without its shell
in a garden where boisterous children play
in a world without a map
a dew drop
I look up
there goes a comet without its tail

I am not afraid of the darkness
Silence seems like a worthy friend
I welcome the scent of the deep, rich earth
That's not why I am afraid to meet my end.

I am not afraid of the afterlife
I have lived good, honest, clean
I know my sins, I know my faults
That's not why I'm afraid of the unseen.

I have no thirst for gold
no family who will mourn me
I am not concerned about disappearing
or leaving behind a legacy.

I am afraid to die
because this world is all I know.

I work against the tide of pain, fight against the cynicism, push away the hate
I'd hate to die, to leave this earth before knowing its' final fate.

I just want to know what happens,
after I am long gone,
to know if all I have given to this world
lives on.

I like to pretend I'm a bomb
(During ***)
Watch me blow up (Covered in Latex)
Contamination,
like a good bomb squad (We hit the deck)
*******
******* on false pretense (We can make it to the kitchen)
Baby, baby, baby
Cradle-rocking ******* on the back seat frame
(You promised to give me brain)
I'm the scientist of my own demise (Turning truth into twisted lies)
I listen to the same music for every emotion
(I am backwards, spinning ocean)
I've been swearing less (But that doesn't matter here)
**** Epitome
(Holiday Cheer)
Put it in your mouth, it's so much cuter (I stay sitting by the computer)
I can be clever, I can be ******
(I can keep springtime into October)

Infatuation.
It’s a girthy, 5-syllable word and you’re
In a fat, juicy, situation.

It’s a swollen, darkened fruit
That begs to be taken completely,
Flesh devoured entirely.

But it’s a trap.

The sweet and tangy blood of it
That dribbles down your chin
To your neck
To your *******
To your heart
To your stomach
To your hips
To your groin
To your ***
Down your thighs
To your nervous toes
Is not love.

Nobody wants to hear that.

But some day
- If you are incredibly lucky -
You will look at your maroon-stained palms
And the dry, sticky rivers of years running down your wrists
And laugh until you cry when you realize
That you could wash your whole body
Because love is not in the juice.

It is not your addiction,
Your summer picking,
Your hungry belly,
Your well of adrenaline,
Your rushing of heartbeats,
Your tangling of bodies,
Your jealousy, yearning,
Nor pride.

If you are incredibly lucky
You will suddenly know love.
As silent, simple, and strong
As the fabric of the universe itself.