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 Sep 2014 Fish The Pig
BB Tyler
A man lay bleeding
on the snow,
his bright red dying
white below.
In the mixing
steam is rose,
wafting final thoughts
to home.
Thunderstorms twirl across my skin,
hurricanes dancing up my spine,
lightning erupts from her skies,
and I find myself enraptured inside.

I see galaxies form beneath her skin,
Supernovas waging war within,
fighting to escape her prisons,
and I'm praying she'll let them win.

If her melody is the universe,
I want to wake up beside the stars.
Let me sing in meteor-showers,
dance with Venus in the acid rain,
I'll skip in the asteroid fields,
jumping nebula fences,
because there's no limits;
the places she takes me are endless.


*~Matthew Walker~
9/21/14
I'm just a pool table floating through the cosmos,
a snail racing in the indie 500.
I'm a mess, ******* on dirt, lying in a basement,
the Click! Now that I have mastered the click I can free my mind of all misconceptions.

I'm a grubby snail person.
Dos Bros Tacos,
served with a hard shell.
I'm a cigarette, trying to hold water in my mouth, and you're a jar, trying to make me spit it out.

I'm a vegan, with primordial urges,
a user, with blood rush surges.

I'm matter, quickly vibrating,
an organic compound, slowly decaying.
Recycled noise
eyes litter the floor
Consciousness murmurs day by day
We don't know where home is and
we're okay with that
It'll be okay
Our feet are cold
Our body awake
Our mind rested and ready to lapse into memory waves
Signs of anchored wisdom and prophecy
A black screen of mindfulness on my hands
blue shells clatter to the floor
The heat of the weapon warms my feet
We aren't tired, are we?
Our heads are too heavy
We risk stretching our legs
And the blood rushes back in
We're tempted to bathe
We're tempted to relay our dreams
It is hard to deny these
Yet it isn't
Our writing becomes large when we have this joy
we have no struggle
no shortage of peace
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