Yours is a path less traveled.
Rythmic for the love of drums.
Got cabinets full of bills,
things that’ll never keep.

A string thugs ever-so-slightly,
but it is visible you see?
Freedom was sold,
hope you kept the receipt.

As if there is none,
be it by chance
or something other.

A wondering lights up interiors;
Such abundance of articles
more-overs out of use.

No stand is clearer than
a subject nearing sight.
I am.

Harboring dreams,
those that don't allow sleep.
Like nothing
it is still there
waiting for all
that won't come.

A Chimera
ardent in my veins,
like alcohol to an open wound.
Wakes me in the morn,
keeps me up at night.
These nights no more dark than eternal.

I hurt just the same
More or less
Still, there’s no rest
And these pages scribbled
Adorned with ink blots
-every other word
And there’s very little punctuation.
---
Scratched a line that was a lie,

Another removed, for it said too much.
Should be simple to understand
Really;
I hurt just the same.

frail bones
barely
holding;
a past as rich,
as the future is poor.
still
everything holds
until.

feels like a re-run,
a cig you ***
when you’re down
on your luck.
something is about to break,
maybe it’s your day
or maybe
it’s just you.