Of story-telling gargoyles with guns
Shooting blanks under a sky with no sun
But sun flowers, there happy faces stare
Up, from the field.
I found salvation under a tree
But I swear this rain brings out the best in me
From here I lit my fire
Burnt the tree
I'm hanging from the branches of that
same tree

And now I lost it
The text reference from the fire breathing dragon
But I did catch this:

Skate across the black river press
To a headline that says, "Put to Rest"
Laying down in my bed
I can't help thinking
Maybe she is the one for me
And what, really, is ****** reality?

A tree doesn't stop growing at the roots.
No
It extends towards the sky
Slowly towards wisdom
Towards a self
Lost in the wind.
Going
Growing
Learning

The highest self
Highest being

And the branches reach in every direction
North south east west
Each leaf
Cool shades of green
Growing
Learning
Knowing

Shade,
for sitting
Come and relax
Learning
Knowing
Teaching

The roots never show ware
Always holding
Growing strong

Digging
To know.

There is no story to tell for this one. Just a list of key ideas: love, lust, big changes, confusion.

Remember: there are always two sides to a story; often you just don't want to go back and actually read it.

You think I've never seen the hallow?
Where darkness moves himself around
It's in the center of the trees
Where I saw you standing last night
With only a moments hesitation
I moved to the left and sat down
The tree bows for a perfect seat
A sort of throne, you could say
Where I sat and watched you for an hour

You never really moved
Not on your own

It's just over the hill
The wind only stirs the leaves
And your fingers
Your toes rooted deep
No need for fear
The dirt will hold you here.

I thought I was helping
But all he did was continue blabbering on about dishes and days.
I told her the truth, I finished up earlier and had a little meeting with a filmmaker. Later, I decided to ask if could help out with the clean up.
For a short 15 minutes.

She said, "I don't know what that's about."

Now, I wait.
I could just pretend to be asleep when they come back.
Nothing really matters when you're sleeping.

I look down
And realize how comfortable we have become in the way we view our sadness, our love, our friendships, our life.

Was he flexing at us? That boy on the train?

"Lol. I thought she winked at me bro!!"

Maybe if I pretend my favorite artist is in my ear, they will all leave me alone.

And I said, "no wonder we can't be poets, we have no way to reflect when we are constantly updating ourselves!"

Sitting on the couch,
I had a realization.
Most of us end up sitting on the couch anyway.
No matter how often we told ourselves we wouldn't be "the yuppy scumbag with a routine life."
Then,
I forgot about it
and moved on to something far more important.
How all people think about death. Everyone has thought about the inevitable end. Period.
Suddenly, I moved up one level of consciousness.
I asked myself what do immortals think about?
What do aliens think about? The same things as us?
What do gods think about?

And now the baby's crying
And I think about this poem