Leaves flying by,
feeling my back come to meet my sides,
leaning like Pisa,
wobbling back and forth like a new driver,
                                                         ­           brake,
                                               ­                                gas,
                                                            ­                           brake,
                                                          ­                                        gas,
CRACK!

fall to the ground,
board flies south.
song flies north,
head hits the tar,

laying in the road like a parked car.

That warming connection,
an apprehensive touch,
do I let abandonment take hold,
or show how much I care,
My interest, my desire
To learn how every piece of you functions,
And glides gracefully through this struggle of mortality.

Such a lack of inspiration cant be possible right?
Am I broken?
Wait, I'm thinking of motivation,
I cant remember not being inspired,
If i could just stand up and start moving, start acting on these thoughts, these ideas, these urges...
The resources are here, there is no fear, no shame, it all feels like a game,
When the perfect moment arises to execute, I have other things in my sights,
All of these questions need answers, and so a search is set,
But the sun starts to set and my job hasn't been completed,
hell I have yet to start, where do I begin?

Hair secured like a bonnet around the back of her mind
flowing down like a water-fall divided by crag over cliffs,
I look back and its in a tail but hardly pony, almost as long as our conversations, talking about the tunes got me loony,
cant wait to call you roomy, see you when your'e moody,
Soft hands molded like the clay they manipulate,
Soft words bolded by the way they abdicate, from her lips,
Oh my, you have me falling, floating, oh wait I think I just tripped.

Orange beams, flood through morning fog and wet leaves,
stop signs and whispered phone-calls echo through our minds,
"Was it a good idea to leave the house tonight?"
Running up and down the streets, hearts beating, shadows leading us,
"Was it a good idea to leave the house tonight?"
quietly open the slider, such a warm embrace of light,
We had been out for lifetimes, yet it only read 3:00 on the clock.

If I lose my glasses
I try to imagine them in my mind, but I've had them for so long, how am I to have a more vivid memory than another if i can perfectly imagine them anywhere, so i lost them anywhere i can imagine?
great.
I really did lose my glasses then...

The flow of emotion can be therapeutic,
and yet i want to hold onto that emotion,
a lucrative feeling, letting lose thoughts,
but what do you let go of when you are all out?
an empty tank, zero balance, closet void of light,
disappointing to that greedy aspect of I.