your songs are like dead weight
and living weight. a heavy truancy
that is always late
but never on time for completely gone.
you're always here. belonging to me
and never there.
a curl in the straight line
that leads to soft stones
and marsh.
you test my honest bravery.
you have lungs enough for jubilation
but your theories wane
as I wander... and we suffer the airless bliss
of a toy in the hands of a maker.
we break our spines to build
false houses on mole hills.
and there we manage
the serpentine
to crush the very dreams
we haven't.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
your songs are like dead weight
and living weight. a heavy truancy
that is always late
but never on time for completely gone.
you're always here. belonging to me
and never there.
a curl in the straight line
that leads to soft stones
and marsh.
you test my honest bravery.
you have lungs enough for jubilation
but your theories wane
as I wander... and we suffer the airless bliss
of a toy in the hands of a maker.
we break our spines to build
false houses on mole hills.
and there we manage
the serpentine
to crush the very dreams
we haven't.
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