The tenor man restricts his artistic fix
Atop His dusty maple mantle piece
His lesson sent His love away
His passion was his dagger play
Upset from the form that was not his own
His soul He saw could hold no bones
As if speaking to oneself were half that fun
As if the falling rain hit no sleeping drunk ***
Practice makes perfect because work is precious
Precious reason to go on and on and on
Precious reason precious reason
That reason which was not clear and quick to sway
The battle cry from throats tired off the boat
Boars bend their weary cracked aged' spines
A memory fades pixilated back into the mist
A ball is tighter when gripped like a fist
Wheezing women wretch whimpering for internet love
How is nature going to handle any of this?
Any of this
Any of us
Any of this nonsense we believe is supposed love
I am sick I am tired I am falling from grace
One day
At a
Time
Soon sorrowful laments will ring from the church bells which I have never visited
They are quite pretty
Quite pretty
But the popping up of ancient ghosts lined with ******* crumbs
Feeling dumb
Feeling oh so dumb with a thumb pressed against a glass at full mast
At half
At half
At half
Mast.