99 cent wars, rooftops, Gibraltar Screaming "god bless the fabulous" Christs;

In the eyes of years
Man is king only over that which breathes,
So let's throw hugs in the air,
sit on flowers and vanish to Cook stones on the hips of Cleopatra
with all of December's left footed children

For through the cried ***** tears of furry German banana caskets,
Eternity awaits
In the failures of our greatest triumphs,

So let's dance

After all, Psychological Wednesday societies
Are only good for curing Xbox manifestos and Tuesday sanities

And if we died one day,
it sure won't be yesterday.

I have my mothers hands
Bony fingers, veins visible to the forearm
Circular scars around the elbow

I don’t feel right drinking, doing drugs
Mom always in my head,
Grey and black hair
Wrinkling slowly with red gums

I hold my girl close, the same silky bedsheets
spotted comforter I spent Saturday mornings in

I hold her tight when we ****
I don’t want her lap to leave mine

When she leaves in the morning I can’t help it
Laying naked with messy hair, alone
And my black hole thoughts run between my ears

I can hear them between walls
Voices telling me to give my life to something else

staying here where the roots grow
or parting when the leaves blow

There's a tree over there
that waits for its dreamer.

I have survived many.
And lost much
but to tell all would encumber several human spans
because
I have lived and longed.
I have learned and yearned.
I have waited.
At the train station, where existence can only be fulfilled
via a spiritual connection.
Bounded by roots that twist and secure
Soon to be bonded with thoughts
Floating through the sky, riding the air waves, see-through till caught
in a spider's web, or something like it.
And imaginary gets real.
Take in the matter
Scrub the void with scrounged emotions and colors
Pour in materials of lint and string.
Mediums with no particular conductance,
but taught it tight
and strum till the vibrations reverberate
and bring your idea to life in my wings
Because you are my dreamer.
And I am your catcher.
Hung on a wooden peg,
in your study.
Waiting for the day you
pick me up
and all your dreams tumble out and
materialize
and you realize **who you are.