Rumpled feathers wrinkled in time
switchfeet running on a half battery
a horrible situation if you aren't accustomed
but to the rest
an average day-
breakfast lunch and dinner
nutrients, calories, sustenance
cherry bombs make lovely sundae toppings
then all goes nuts-
kaboom, kaplow
may all the tall ones wear pin striped suits
and carry pinwheels
and pin buttons of political preference to breast pockets
out pops golden sunshine
rays of gamma and joy
proletariat eternity
cannot decide
between juvenile altercations
or the same ole same ole way of *******.

On most days I feel like a cave on the outskirts of a small town in Iowa. A lonely hermit lives there. The cave is a body of tunnels. Some have lanterns waiting to be lit. The hermit lives somewhere in the center. Sometimes the children who have made up stories about the hermit visit the mouth. Full of fear, they yell into it. Yell, "Hello! Are you there?". After a moment of silence their own echos bounce back and startle them. Realizing he is not real, the children laugh. Their laughter fills the small tunnels, and the sound makes the hermit happy. On most days my body is heavy with that sound.

He said :-

This love's a place I cannot live
and the prison I can't escape,
for my love you freely sacrificed
and my dreams you nightly ****.

You are the pillow on my face
you are the needle in my arm,
you are the bullet in the brain
and the pills within my palm.

But I could never hate you babe
I could truly ner' be free,
for you are the rhyme and rythmn
that flows inside of me.

So I am holding on and digging in
holding you and holding ground,
for I know you feel the same way babe
at having me around.

So plump the pillow roll my sleeve
aim straight and swollow hard,
and when we play the hand we're dealt
I will be your joker card.

So holding on to promises
holding ground whilst holding you,
I will take life's slings and arrows
and see this sentence through.

burning the candle
from both ends makes twice the flame
and twice the shadow