Input too faint in black to read
Setting horizon sizzling sputtering grease

Awakening fonts of lyrics past
As every hour washes the forward front
Of the modern word

When the timing is right
The feeling is wrong
And when the emotion is pure
The timing twisted

Luck is a fickle thing

Breeze of life smells of ocean orange
Tantric cool aid and hobo encampments
Construction goes on all night here
The nearer we get to death
The more some wished they'd lived

Another cloudy morning and
I touch the screen of my phone -
Smooth glass of volcanic obsidian -
Like the *** of a baby
Or a hook-up from high school day's past.

Inside finger tips electronic horns blast
A feather balances on the edge of my water glass
Instead of rain, I wish today for sun
Last fourth of July, instead of fireworks
I listened to the screams and shouts of popping guns

Tide takes back what was first Her's
Love is a God many have forgotten
But all, somewhere, still feel Him
Time has no control over the inner
Only the body, the shell, the capsule, the cage

Blood on the knife red droning silver
Another day another dollar
Hotel Utah hides in the Bay's fog
Nowadays, we can barely small talk

When the heart goes
That's the end

The muse leaves when She wishes
There are no guarantees
Discipline pushes, but that is the ego
The fight for perpetuation

In the sun my neck starts to burn
Sweat drops from my red face
To the black spotted sidewalk
And I take my time
I hurry up
And at the end of the hour
The work still wasn't enough