If I can turn 25
Then 50 is possible
That leads to 100
And surely this me will be gone by then
Inevitable

Not enough
To understand
Time

Trying to understand a river
Being crushed by it
Against all the things
Plants, rocks, sand, mud
Rushed by it
It almost makes sense at first,
Then faster and faster
And finally
Drowned

Sometimes your friends
Get it all wrong
That's why I wrote this song
About what they said
They can't tell ****
I promise you,
I'm a shinola head

She said she might like to stay.
Then I said that might be ok.
And that was it.
Our stupid story had begun.

A way
An approach
One might choose
With unique advantages
And unique faults.
Not better
Might be worse
But I doubt it.
Leaving space
In the noisy top
For those top dogs
To fight it out.
Less blame
Less regrets
Less more
More less.

I had a few friends who lived
Around me
They sent out a search party
Which found me
After noticing I’d been gone for so long

People remember
People forget
Who could predict
What will happen

Old boots
Sparkly ripped ***** hose
Pale, she looks cold
Her eyes look faded
Little girl makeup
Bold and sloppy
Over wrinkles and moles
Grey hair for an inch
Then black die to shoulder length
Then bleach blond for a couple shaggy inches
She croaks wisdom
The exact sound of her voice is everything
All of it becomes perfect
The words become meaningful
And She
Shapes into It
It
Everything perfect
God
Love
Whatever