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ZWS Jul 2019
Cameras are flattering until they flash
The depiction of Kings and queens until the shutter castles
Evangelical in nature what our pictures capture
Where the greens of your garden meet my pasture

I try to find my way, but only find myself as a knight with no sense of direction
Fighting for home, or for throne, the question begs itself
Where the answer is another question
Intrepid in nature,
Why do I play the game without something to wager

And slaves and peasants and king’s all the same in the end
Whilst the keep remains high and grand at the expense of what the treasury lends

Where pigeons can not land and letters bury the foundations
And there the queen remains, frivolous with men fascinated by their own incantations
In her jewelry and robes, her stallions, her fields, in a glow forged by ignorance and fascination

And here I am all the same, chasing after the same libations
ZWS Jul 2019
If you asked me to give you the picture
I couldn’t even paint her
This girl’s got me on retainer
Her purse is full of my pastels and pens, and I don’t quite consider myself an entertainer
And every stroke of my tongue comes out as a castrated slur
Yet on my way to hers
I trample through a trail covered in burs
They are stuck on me, but I am undoubtedly stuck on her
ZWS Jul 2019
You move I move, scandalous, something to prove
Pretending to be who is who, who is you, who is me, woah is you
And I’m new to new, but I can’t seem to fit into the groove
There is black and there is blue, and when the sky turns back in lieu
Cash turns into change, and so do you
ZWS Jul 2019
Dead TV channels and corn puffs on floor like skinemax and taxes on the poor
Stained coffee tables and sunlight through the glass pane door
The aftermath of ****** and scores
All of us have some kind of drug in our veins and pores

That ***** outdoor patio, with the edgy tattooed girls
Where we used to turn over chairs to find pearls
The 90% would always put us into a swirl
The moonshine would always help us unfurl

Saints on high our porches rumble
Where secrets held are worse than those under the Vatican’s
But we’re as dead as the mannequins
And we’re lost to our ambitions that we humble

Like kindred souls around a fire we lost ourselves to gravity
Our mornings filled with sweet nothings, our nights with serendipity
Where we found peace and home in entropy
In the lull of a dogtown in the middle of the world
ZWS Jul 2019
Let me tell you a story that’s told, a place that’s dark and filled with brimstone
A place that can feel hot or cold, a place where brightness can unfold
Where men abroad are worn thin, some seem to think about little else, but skin
And as they walk their walk and talk their talk what they truly want passes like a gust of wind
The body and mind are acutely fixed, they lose their footing, they’re crossed and tricked
Head strong yet clumsy, tempered like an iron bar, these men will tell you what they think from afar
No real who’s, what’s, where’s or know how, their tongue trebles, it declares, without care or clarity, it cracks like a snare
Preaching strong and wide and broad like the big churches of St. Sinclair singing songs throughout outdated speakers, oh god
The opinions of shepherds are often the rumors of sheep, trapped in gossip like the bonds of viral news excused for tweets
They wear it on their arms and nationalize their pride all while being humble, they claim, but knows not who it harms
They make a point to point fingers for points overwhelmed with the poignant denial they pass off as practical
Cracking irony with their minds white washed from the wash and their thumbs I mistake for calloused ******
This human condition we oft’ know well, is dying right under our nose
Medicine won’t help those who are only concerned with what happens above or below
ZWS Jun 2019
Faux Play

Webs of remorse cover my bed as I stumble back into brambles
A place that acts as a sanctuary but looks like a crumpled napkin
A recluse ******* that concerns no cordials
But those that comfort a king who bellows in his castle
Built high out of stone and assured to one day be ruins
A faux ploy to thou I’ve surrendered built on all of those who I’ve sundered
A war within my own; where ballast meets ballast
And blunder meets blunder
ZWS Jun 2019
Warmth is something funny, like the embrace of another
How you long for it but hold that cold wall at night
Warmth can smolder, smile, and smother
It can burn you and choke you and make you feel as light as a kite
Sometimes it feels right, and it can carry you through your nights
The funny thing is warmth.. can come from cold hearts and warm hearts alike
Sometimes it’s adrenaline, and sometimes it leaves you frozen
Fight?
Or flight?
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