A touch of younger stuff
just rolling off your cuff
Weakens my knees
as through the day
I find myself kneeling.
By the end of our encounter
I'm holding back from begging
and crying in between the lines
of the words I speak.
None of it does any good in the end
as your eyes look down
and beckon my back
to the ceiling
Kiss me old man
tell me I'm worth a glance
and I'll give you the nothing sagging through my fingers
As I pursue
my bones find a lack of a base in my words
so my eyes bleed spat flowers
horror on the floor.

Remind me of goals lost
in days of slowly rotting
finding comfort in an easy hole
I can make friends learn
I made friends learn to see only forgetting
Please
just another ten minutes
of panicked searching for proof
that I am the redemption ****
that could grow
through all the stones
I bragged I could seed

The liar mouse is revealed
and pity stays another hand
so I can find another life to steal

Wet stone cuts
through earth
in waves
of a dark sea rising
to settle back
into streaked moonlight
under stars
and clouds
deep blue outline

Warm skin aches
for the peace
of dangerous things
safely seen
at a distance

***** fonts will follow you down the long path
Smell dry earth and leaves falling back, out of time.
pushy brother wont stop cutting your soles
And a Soulful maiden soothes your chain-wounds
The sun is a double edged sword and burns as it delivers
Cynical of cynicism, eating dirt pacing. without time.
back hurting more than before it's a different ship.
A new origin story of amnesia on the road.

Losing the difference
in the grand design
Without a kiss
from another kind
or the oral tradition
It's been months
since I last looked behind
and felt sorta lucky
Or last imagined myself
in a bed
with a girl
who likes me
Some soft perfume
in your eyesight
fills me up
with some raven desire
to take control of how your time unfolds
My genes are bruise steepers
they're valiant cut keepers
and in my soupy potential
I'll find I've wasted too much time.

Holding onto some grey advice my dear
Giving my time away for some golden years
Filling your moments with the smell of a familiar language
and the beaten horse you figured dead
They show up at your house to remind you
there are still some hounds you left unfed

and it fills your mind with all the crimes
that time still hasn't brought
On occasion you search for a way to explain
there's still a way it can be fought

Racing loss is downhill from the only place that
Faded sense can release you
and oh, it's pivoting towards spent energy
and too clear an ending

and it fills your mind with all the crimes
that time still hasn't brought
On occasion you search for a way to explain
there's still a way it can be fought

That desperate mother's tone you adopt
When you've sat too long to
Entertain a vagabond
and your skeptic barring insight
Falls through my stomach like a stone

A mixture of systems in the world
and in our head
was an emulsion dissolving into our fragile stock
and vicious protraction
So nature without violence is a cruel joke
Born of an early hand from a woman

My lonely nights
cut me deeply
How many times
I've forgotten
The warmest feelings on tap
It gives weight
To living a weightless life

Nobody's voice was ever louder for a lesson worth a ****
And parental omnipotence switches off
With the coldest question you've ever known
So behavior loses reinforcement
and the mind loses any sense of direction
Tasked across a massive field of senseless conception

Seagull on rotting planks, bouy bells ding to fog and driftwood.
A culling fire exploits the docking shire.
Filled with chlorine shards, legs caught in the clap-traps.
Friar palms glisten,
Rage responds with frisson.
Clear view over water.
Feel your arms relax and slip onto your back while the culling fire attacks.
Bulbous deadening brain chimes
As the eyes slide down to your omission crimes.
Leave me alone in my despondent company.
Don't push the matter further let communication fail to nurture.
A warm breeze carries me
like a floating portrait towards unreal scented meats.
I'm here now, alone in the corner,
The greatest intimacy with the static patterns on the carpeted flooring. The king of this corner is the odor of plank seating and flowery detergent in this lonely corridor fluorescent light-bulb poles and old grain floorboards.
Now the returning shards of panic to uncelibate strangers drive me up, far, deep in my own ribcage to something wholly non-organic.
Time to clock-in, time to check out.