Blurring the pages,
I never know where to begin.
I mean its all a process,
Lax,I'll say, not like Philly Steaks under a crimson moon
Only Cessnas hovering the airport. 5 years down the pipe, What's to show?
As the wit runs dry,
And it all feels so fake.

Its all readily super imposed,
Like the steel chips I dig
From my work boots.
Saul sold his eyesight
For a broken figure raised
To Light.
And I ponder it's meaning.
Well, I guess its all 8's
From here on out.
What a sleek subterfuge-
And I lost my train of thought.

Dreams of tavern hell,
Then you wake me once more to sweet lamplight.
There's only two ways
Out of here:
One requires gasoline,
The other skilled dexterity.
Wait for further instructions.
Perchance to dream,
She walks as a thousand moons. Where turning away
She turns toward Kodachrome. So elusive,
I mean deep in the *****,
Where they go loop de loop
All night long.
And it's so callously dropped
On this ludicrous calibration
So out of square, going nowhere
In a hurry.
You said you saw it coming.
I did too.
Not that you would care.
I did so once.