The future is
a conversation among
old friends; and the present,
a familiar beer in the hand
attached to an outstretched arm
riddled with scars;
a taste of loneliness so
golden and hoppy

Home is always far
away, much like the
sun when it's rising
and falling; a throbbing
orange-red pulse
in the endless
blanket of blue

Let's fall in love,
the moon says
to her wounds;

and they do,
but it doesn't last long

Happiness cleanses
the soul of it's tiny
tortures;

and somewhere
in the distance a brown
baby coos for his
blank faced mother.