Sometimes you see something in the eyes of a stranger, And ponder it's
Dark division, Or what the world gives,
And what you take in return.
You wax philosophical,
Yet its hard to remember hunger. But that's what you
Observe so close In your mind. You see, I've put
On this coat of armor,
It shines like Jericho.
In it's bareness it surely does.
Its then I throw my star map
To the sky.
It's a strange vibration,
Picking up subsets of information, Not that peculiar to what's already known. A hazy retelling of
Dreams we recall
In sunlit Rooms of morning.
This sensory yawing, this come hither, This de facto drama, This temporary breakdown of transcendental machinery, Nervously factored in the equation.
This sackcloth of ashes we carry, This ponder, TIS dark stone, shiny and cool,
This question, hurled from the sun, this dark advisor,
Ready to draw us due west.
I play jazz music, I draw
The rustic image, Castles
Crumbling in the sand.
I see the flitter on the screen,
This turnaround from the ditch, A bad day in Mexico,
The arc of the sun returning.
A roadmap of red and blue highways, I wish to pick one,
Perhaps end up on a dusty
Reservation in Utah,
Or a dark avenue, a pale ******* in heat and hunger of night. It's wild fate, And you haven't broke through yet. A shell game you just can't win. This
Strange world of lamplight.
Earth and roots and dark back roads, A spare key
Under a rock,
A slip through the slipstream,
In a rising beyond this dark vale.