Spinning round a windy ledge,
i kiss the cross around my neck,
these fever dreams replace the likes of you.

Grinning into space, alone and lost,
the dampened linens lie,
     as i wake up,
     covered in fake love.

In my den the china white,
embraced my blood and laced my night,
an amuse-bouche of courses left to come.

The past three years I can't recall,
coulda been fun, but was it worth it all,
i'm a coma patient lacking an excuse.

Truth,
is hard to come by,
You,
are a stranger in my,
Eyes,
collude disguise.

H arrowing abundance rife with result
O ur minds narrowly try to cope
U nder pressure facades and near **** haute
R estricts the leisure of bare beauty
G rowing impatient by the cover of makeup
L oving imperfection is now a rare duty
A ttributes of wear benign hope and
S ecede scars born of cataclysm while
S carcely inhibiting a chance to forgive them

Are you fatigued?
Do you have irritable bowel syndrome?
Are there irreconcilable differences in your life?
Are you Homophobic...

"I climb 1,576 stairs"
"But I have a lot of gay friends"
once we've reached the top,
there are no two quarters for the lens.

What's driving us, this feeling, this wander?

Could you imagine,
If kind was ****** compassion.

Could you imagine,
If kind has no reaction.

What a day, what a day, what a day, what a day;
it will be.

Like children lost in corn mazes.......

filled with glee.

Hollow are those shallow times,
don't you
forget
about me.

What a day, what a day, what a day, what a day;
it will be.

Luckily those prickly vines, are fading fantastically.


TRF
         sometimebforehalloween

a hundred years of rain
drops down the tall, tilted rooftop
towards the porous landscape below,
as love soaks, the dust settles.

dreams of fluid summers
in the nineteen hundreds,
children's laughter echoing
through candle lit halls of timber,
front porch rocking chairs squeaking
after grandpa's dinner
where this happy home
is a dream you'll remember.

sleeping tears awoke to crimson crust & apple red veins,
eyes peering through the dizzying fog to find a faucet
& drizzle rain like nectar down the peach pit's core,
along rugged edges & oval pores,

imperfect patterns & lightning blinks
remind the second sadness to cry once again.

My swipe of crust is rusting
like a smoker's yellowing finger tips gathering paint on callouses
& cracked lips

mirrored reflections shadow gaze,
squinting to locate bronze crow's feet of a man, mid thirties,
lying for what-to die
dying to wait-for what

we danced in the streets as the days were long
only recess and reckoning while water crept in
this city of dead, our place, where the stench lives
and bodies float, lying above the crypt's graves  

hurricane red absinthe & hand grenades
slugging the gulf like a shooter's brigade
a forecast shifts, flooding any escape
so we fire our motors with boats on em.

I'm covered from head to toe in resin, acrylics and epoxy,
Some pulverized rocks my son gathered from the Chattooga River,
Now reduced to a burnt ember dust.
I added silicone sludge and a little baking powder as well,
And once mixed, this dicey concoction is beautifully toxic,
So I waft the air and inhale it.

Painting a colorful sunset is too easy, I prefer black and white,
So with a wooden board the size of a door,
I get to work with my rubber sledgehammer, blowtorch
A gallon of poison and flammable spray.

The passers by have seen this look in eyes,
From The Shining or possibly their preachers,
You know, the same look that's a sight to behold.

Slamming the hammer down with brute force
And purposed abandonment,
I paint my sunset and wrangle the stars later.
A shower won't do me justice>

your "friends" that we meet,
i forget their names,
my calloused palms are greased,
by their  squeezing hands

i remember one's a banker,
or he could have said a thief,
his ******* words were flanked,
by my misbelief

i was held hostage,
you were a smiling drone,
i remember when i lost
to Stockholm Syndrome

their Heirloom Suffix changes,
on tuxedos and trust funds,
my rental wears just fine,
i'm not the danger

shorting stocks on tuesday,
while playing ball in hand,
what a shame to lose me,
busted seams this man

I am not a banker,
I am not a saint,
I cannot to be trusted,
I won't place the blame.
I am not a proxy,
I am an astronaut,
But this distant world you live on,
Is far from my plot

it's a bone dry west
for a cool east summer
i'm steeple chasing baby
from a derby to a dungeon

orange cones on the left
bright beams on a Hummer
i'm flicking off the bird
from nevada to wyoming

get this load off my chest
it burns April like a stoner
i'm a bayou baby
from the streets of magnolia

i smoke cigarettes, i'm cool.
my new orleans dialect, hasn't escaped me yet.
get high from the vet, i'm cool.
With my head down I’m staring up, from this deep K hole.

my coke is the best, i'm cool.
wearin' a crown to bed, those thorny cigarettes.

don't listen to anyone who's true,
live like you wanna be, that seems funny too.

die in your dreams, way past curfew,
the more it seems, those years'll laugh at you.

     the sky will bury you
     and burn you to the ground.
     hot air balloons,
     will fall upside down.

     life's label has no lesson,
     you grew and grew and grew.
     armor up this cap and gown,
     nightmares will pursue.

with all above regrets, i'm cool, i'm cool, i'm cool.

i rest my head gently
against wooden beams,
cigarette smoke clouds
pillow case dreams

on a star spangled night
dangling feet off a ledge,
the moon bends light
along a noose i've pledged

the devil calls my name
the weight pulls me down
the angels aren't to blame
ignore their siren sound

i kneel beside my bed
and shake my fists above
this reckless life i've led
sings blue cobalt love

There's just no easy way to say
Packed a bag and I left the house today

I let you in and trusted you like therapy
Now my rear view reads you appear too close to me

I've just got no more time to spend
Check engine lights and I gotta pay the rent

Been putting this off like an overdue oil change
Speeding from a reflection in our window pane

I'm done with aching
And the Summer's bout to break
You'll be forgiven
But right now I must escape
This All.

Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight.
Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly,
as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch,
and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport.

"Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned,
and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me
like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft.
But I was getting divorced while all the other couples
were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction.

Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph,
on the Fùxīng Hào bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam.

The conductor yelled, "All Aboard."
and as if that period denoted a punctual mark,
everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle.

The first influx of lovely passengers to board were,
Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache.
Unlike Dr. Feelgood,
They had been waiting in line from the previous night,
like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale.

Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of
Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity,
for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet.

Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles,
while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning
and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection.

The  Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains,
so TSA
wheeled him through the crack rocks

Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart;
traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.  
My analog heart will eventually be shelved,
as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul,
but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick,
my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.

Does your darkness forecast shadows,
A high noon noose hangs from the gallows,
Feel the sharks circling shallow,
Swim fast, I'm bleeding.

Peripheral landscapes drape your gilded chatter,
Purple & pink horizons, summon laughter,
Your eyes blink lightning speed patterns,
My clouds follow, miles per hour.

What in this wide world changes,
Can we live high on mountainsides,
Open our door to the strangers,
Surrender to the ocean tides.


~My palette craves color,
     Your canvas seeks attention,
       My callused fingers are covered,
          When your callous words are mentioned.

Teeth chatter and butts raise above seats,
Riding pickups atop the corduroy road,
Thunder claps of rubber bass beats,
Slapping the undercarriage's rusty odes.

The tires rhythmic riffs are risky,
Clavinet keys echo wood beams over muddy water,
Walter Murphy drinks a Fifth of Beethoven's whiskey,
Leaving superstitions for Stevie to Wander.

did you laugh in your sleep last night,
how do you suffocate the fear,
can a dream feel your smile,
do your eyes wake up with tears.

empty bottles by your bedside,  
that friendly disguise disappears,
remedies fuel wildfires,
can a heartburn embrace the sear?

~trayfe_creates

Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old **Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
   Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.  
                                                        ­    Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy…                                               SwOosh. Hush!
           Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
     A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
                     Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
        In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
        This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
                “I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
                     The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
                                          Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide.                               As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
            Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
       guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
               This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.


_TRF

you could never take a compliment
they're buried with the rest of 'em

my mind is prone to atrophy
rewind your body next to me

no lies in our comfort zone
take this time turn off the phone

we are not an accident
don't be so incredulous

  it's getting dimmer, swimming in a shoal...
  dinner bells resound like white fog around a light pole...

heaven cannot face us
not to be complacent

devil wears my shoulder
your angel is adjacent

seven years of chances
still drowning in a basement

you could never take a compliment
they're buried with the rest of 'em

Those West Texas *******,
Sure look pretty good to me,
On the way back home,
to Nashville Tennessee.

I don't wanna hang out,
to the east, west, south or north.
Gonna write me a song,
swingin on my front porch.

Crickets sing in the background,
while feet stomp this here oak,
Pass me the slide and I'll take you on down the road.

My woman says I drink too much, and I agree with her,
Tie the devil round the bottle, make me a fishin' lure.

This Road's mighty ******* poor souls, especially the likes of me,
Take your candid pictures now, drown your worries down by the sea.

From where I stand today,
At sixty three years old,
I've lived twice the life,
of any man I've ever known.

No makeup, I got real scars,
All from after hour bars.
Read my poetry palms girl,
tell me If I'm near or far.

Played every stop along the way,
Sometimes got out for free.
Look at this face child,
Don't reckon I owe a fee.

Leaving those West Texas *******,
easier than it seems,
Gettin' back to my front porch is where I Wanna be.

_trf WPbumblefoot

The unscrupulous cavalry shuffled aboard narrow lanes,
Cutting in line towards Jager Bomb's tether,  
Cluttered duffel bags concealing cheap champagnes,
Passing cruise ship commuter's ruffled feathers.

With their fake, "excuse me's" en route to the bar,
Coercing the conductor who's been under the weather
With smug smiles and counterfeit Cuban cigars.

Leaving the harbor three sheets to the wind
The cowards commandeered Grandparents pool chairs,
A little past midnight with no foresight of end,
An abrupt brawl broke out, fists flying through air.

A sightseeing whale trip turned into a ship from hell,
The assailants now held in a South of Wales cell.

Couldn’t grasp a report today… dear child.
My broadcast body tuned to this frequency
Wouldn’t turn the channel ‘mind so beguiled
Me and my ******* voracious tendencies
Like a blood clot in my brain these words are filed
This new sensation is my delinquency.

Let’s shut it off... and get away.
Flip the switch on my ten-pound nemesis
Can shoulders bear its weight day after day
So Long the time has come to finish this.

This child as pure as I am blight; Let’s both be free.
Don’t Plant the Red Fern angel, he has long to Grow
Son, here’s my soul, please interchange with me
Like the boy I wonder, “Where will I go?”
As I’m not so proud of my biography
Alright Jack, it’s time to Get on the Road with this show.
Hell is a library with only one book, The Inferno.

_TRF 12/13/16

vibrations resonate from the keys
and a rhythmic heart beats all eighty-eight.
those who cannot glean her pleasantries,
adorn snapshots of   SOHO  shopping sprees.

a gleam of light seems dull amongst the coral reefs,
sending shivers up the spine of apathy.
shaping narrow minds and corrupting the weak,
is this vial, verbose and anxious society.

a butter knife has taken the place of my edge,
not sure how to sharpen its fight.
a flutter of  broken wings i've pledged
this blur has delayed my flight.

so i steady my fingers
over both blacks and whites,
and ready libations,
like Goethe's pursuant might,
vibrations do linger with no end in sight,
until my art escapes me, only fluent at night.

we coral reefs need to be saved




_TRF

Sketching surveys of desolate dreams,
purveyors of private property plots,
their impatient greed,
ignoring purple spray paint warnings.

Six feet under, resting next to Grandpa's coffin,
live valuable minerals, their rights forgotten,
a farmer of soy beans, wheat and corn,
oil & gas law to Grandpa was foreign,
but he knew why our creek's current flowed north,
upwards, defying gravity or reason, why these men had come.

One time executive cowboy hats descended on the farm,
in pickup trucks, just purchased from an oil lot in Odessa,
Grandpa took aim and raised his Beretta,
their unfit hats lost to the blast, the only harm.

I was only five, when I saw his lengths of protection,
he took me on hunts for deer, boar, quail, dove,
would always aim his rifle, fire and miss,
blamed it on his eye sight, yet hit bullseyes on paper targets.

It took me 20 years to understand why, with swallowed pride,
he purposely missed killing these animals,
cursing his eyesight instead, winning an Oscar for his humble acts,
was he blinding me from death?

There was no vision impairment, I found out in hindsight,
probably the trauma witnessed, as he died with 20/20 eyesight.

Tides move in swiftly
when the moon has to let us know
how powerful she is
and her phosphercsecent glow

Howling songs in the distance
like southern cicadas do
asking her to forgive us
holding hands next to you

I was born down south
I was raised by the heat
Cornbread in my mouth
I crave a country beat
When I go to the river
And the levy breaks
Don’t blame me
for all the mess we create

Southern cicadas
you sing lullabies
Like Mother Nature
You overwhelm the skies
But in the morning
And three cups of coffee
The only rhythm is my heart beating trepidatiously

I'm wide open,
Standing stark at your front door,
Like a covered peep hole,
I'm not welcome anymore.

I'm wide open,
Your shadow frame cracks the floor,
But it's drifting away from me,
Scaling back the dinosaur.

Now I'm closed,
Alone in a clothing line,
Thrift stores we used to find,
Our vintage passing for time.

Do you suppose,
Roses are thorny vines,
Grapes don't smell like wine,
You were never the nurturing kind.

Fluid rivers, their white noise and chilly inhaled lace
ease my mind's labyrinth, catching deep breaths
dancing in dreams of forest filled landscapes
like a child's security blanket, mother nature's embrace
we awake to marsh mellows and sticky coat hangers  
the dull, orange embers reignite purpose flames
as sunrise and coffee breaks the plains
a guitar lies naked near **** bottles of wine
reclaiming its tuning, strumming life into souls
and once the satsumas and the coffee's devoured
we bask in the sunshine, winding down hours
delaying the inevitable Watch Full Moon Tower

Black shoelace, tied in knots
basks my face with paltry plots
stole my heart like summer's sin
heat is threatened by cool wind
        Rear view mirror, burned by glow
        reflects a frozen, fragile soul
        they appear, my warm woes
        white lies, turn from ash to coal
Crave smoke rings, periled fade
round' my solo fireplace
truths can't find their crumbs to trace
her sparrow, sings a love charade
        All my years, i'm alive
        caches in my brain's hard drive
        my White lies, wear a Black shoelace
        they delve deep, digest disgrace..

what has come to this
indigenous things we do~
better follow the others
cause what once was fiction
now rings true

can't blame apocalypse
our letters aren't edible
and judicious arrangements
are post script letters

so i embrace the gift
that i'm a wandering wolf~
cow paths lead to danger in my book
and these sheep follow bull's ****

raw hide as a service
systems on delivery
don't follow lines of those deserving this
what has come
& what will be

close your eyes when
smoky mirrors reflect a fragile soul,
sporadic drips from the faucet
hit cigarette stained porcelain
and you're not in control.

candy corn orange battles
yellow cowardice grips,
over brick roads and white tips
of which you will walk upon.

bleach seeps into crevasses
weakening white ivory,
rationalizing your pores
to blister like sun damaged skin,
your reflection.

sewing time together,
we scribe our narrative,
your lace stitches leather,
like a seamstress.

failures don't forget me,
i'm their stone to engrave,
designed imperfections
and a chiseled face.

close enough to notice,
constellations are yarn,
unthreading in the distance,
these days seam apart.

i called up my momma
but she wouldn't answer
gettin' old but still feel like a child

i went to my doctor
but he just turned ninety
writes scripts with a wink and a smile

dialed the phone to my lawyer
she sent it to voicemail
debts piling up in my file

texted friends far and near
honesty is too sincere
alone i will walk this mile

eyes
don't wanna see
mediocrity

drivin' through the tunnels,
hold your breath but don't fall asleep

high eyes
wanna be free
like virginity

drivin' through the tunnels,
hold your breath but don't fall asleep

i can't be liable
for all of your pleas
the'll inseminate some
just like a bee
those falling crumbs
swept meticulously
in the long run
please incriminate me

i'm your foot off the brake
the gear's now in neutral
you can turn a deaf ear
although it will be futile
pry your hands off the wheel
while you try to escape
don't take your last breath
foreseen cannot forsake...

I herd these sheep in the silence of the lambo
I process trees into paper, smokin' ammo
A solo man on a mission like I'm rambo
Ernst and Young's got my ***** laundry handled.

I can tell you ride high
In Telluride skies
As the crow flies
From a perch with wide eyes

Pour out a fifth of Bacardi
When you're surrounded by lies
Flush them out like John Gotti
Ice picks their demise.

Yea, rest in peace
You heard me twice, I didn't blink
Counting sheep
Your contract's ceased, I signed the ink
Time to sleep
I raise a glass to have a drink
I kissed your cheek
Rats don't have time to think.

I can tell you ride high
In Telluride skies
As a crow flies
From a perch with wide eyes

Pour out a fifth of Bacardi
When you're surrounded by lies
Flush them out like John Gotti
Ice picks their demise.

Up high above in the dark nights of fall,
Shines a Star that’s more stark than other flashing lights that lure,
Burning since the birth of time, hazy hindrances still may obscure,
Like bait that patiently awaits the oblivious all.

They say one is born every day, but only you illuminate bliss,
You can escape from this infinite space and when shooting make a wish,
Radiate through the hate, create a new fate, you are unique- Not a spate- and amaze everyone,
Oblique where I gaze you are nigh shiny sun.

She came, she saw, she wondered in awe, “where will I be?”
Are the words that pierced Stella’s skin written as a scrawl? Time will tell and we will see.

-TRF

Droplets of rain marbles
splatter on the tin roof
and weigh hungover leaves,
anticipating summer's sweat.
Conga circles drum cricket croaks,
their symphonic looping chorus
dazes time as stars gaze.

Rabbits are everywhere,
halting but not fazed by my high beams
while the tornado siren sounds,
my cue to get naked.

Atlanta reigns the ***** and pills,
so I stay far away,
just ninety three miles south of these hills,
we can't trust me in that place.

In a state of catatonic epilepsy, the fragments flux throughout my head.
This paradox lays atop my pillow as I remember about baby steps and think about Bob.
I calmly ask myself to turn the lamp off, but my arm can’t reach the light.
Yelling, “Go-Go Gadget Arm”, I realize my imagination is fake.

Now gone when I need him I lay and wonder, where is Drop Dead Fred.
Anything to get my mind away from this torturous Blob.
Night and day are little monsters beneath my bed with a ferocious fight.
I reach instead for the bottle that makes sounds that shake like a rattlesnake.

After four of those, each vivid memory is as vague as the next
and the paradox continues…

_TRF

stage life...
is so complicated
they'll confiscate it
your eyes will summit
their stocks will plummet

stage life...
is an oxymoron
you'll labor for em
your body's numb, once
stitched seams come undone

lick your finger.............
                     wine rims sing about it
lick your finger.............
                     counter to clockwise flow
lick your finger.............
                    add your liquidity
lick your finger.............
                    finer tuned frequencies
lick your finger.............
                   consume their recipe
lick your finger.............
                   won't find harmony
lick your finger.............
                   blood soaked oath's decrees

stage fright...
it comes in droves
watches all your moves
ebbs and flows

cautiously, write about it
cannot hide, darkest hours
insatiably, desired thirst
tie dye shirts, passion's curse
drink whiskey, pour a cup
no replies , it's all ****** up.

Indulge in chaos with an appetite of tremendous conviction.
Hastily retrace your preamble that drapes the window pane like the silhouette of a cynic,
Divulge the albatross of plight to escape eviction
And lay waste the shambles that shape a widow’ s pain beset by a mimic.

An insipid eye for uninspired lies,
She forged herself an eponymous name,
Like holding a vigil for a pessimist when in Retrospect the glass is half full.
An under-dog recounts our demise,
Misfortune subsides having only the ***** to blame,
Lack of abuse is an act of kindness,
As Jan-Erik Olsson has no sympathy for the devil.

_TRF

i woke this morning to the blues,
tired eyes can’t fathom this phantom news.

fire breathing out his window pane,
in my dream, thought i'd gone insane.

fictitious facts dawned on me,
my heart scrambled for her recipe.
  
                          So i turned it all off and ran away,
           the twenty four hour cycle versus my ten pound nemesis,
                               can't bear this brunt day after day,
            redemption songs need some bliss.

trust in me as trust in you,
find my flaws....... don't perfect them.
a little boy, i'll re-main true,
cease the fire A-gainst the wind.
casualties can't be subdued,
mind the dice........but don't crap out.
there's no ice that seems to dew,
extinguish flames, round your bout.

                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.
                                     Be on my side, I'll be on your side.

TRF                                              TENtwoTW­OthousandSEVENTEEN

Sittin' perched upon these trees
I'm an astronaut
In a valley where wings are free
takin' time to connect the dots
Smashing clocks who beckon me
the journey is the plot  
  MUST MORE ACRES BURN ? 

     I'm high
  but I can't decide,
    where the beginning meets the end
  or if they coincide,
    I'm alive,
  but I'm on the fence,
    I can't hide these scars
  from barb wired "friends"

Let's
get alone
Let's set the controls for the heart of the sun
Let's
be free
Let's mimic the path of the birds and the bees
Let's
parade
Let's dance in the streets in our evening gowns
Let's
placate
Rid the world of our demons and all its hate.

MY build to suit mind is designed for disappointing,
a warehouse space of dim lights, taunted by an l.e.d. retrofit,
TREPIDATIOUS, unable to sign my life's lease to own,
YEARS spoiled like produce, a dumpster gratefully digests.
I was 7, a little league southpaw, my arm, accurate on the mound.
PRACTICE of carelessly skipping stones over invulnerable ponds.
that day, the equation was misaligned, numbers squared roots and
CAUSED the answer to spawn seismic ripples of infinite affects.
it was the split second that was carelessly skipped and
THIS boy's vulnerable retina, the invulnerable pond.
although I was the expert marksman, I begged William not to Tell,
SO he blindly obliged my apple-shot withdraw request,
NOW spoiled produce my dumpster won't gratefully digest.
WHAT i regret most is not saying, William. Tell.

All the flowers you left me,
when water went away,
died on my back porch.

These hours manipulate,
disguise the days,
smells like rain.

For every lucid hour,
weeping on all fours,
blistered bones felt the pain.
blistered bones felt the sore.

If you were so special,
would you look me in the eyes,
they're red like a dust bowl's,
allergic surprise,
forging our guestbook,
we invited the lies,
she said it was useful,
to hide in the sky.