Here's to absent friends
Who have to had the wool pulled over their eyes
Causing them to take unneeded detours
That delay them to their appointment at the mortician's

As their conversation went something like this...

"Who took the cookies from the cookie jar?
Was it you?"
"Yeah! And I'd do it again too!
I just want to watch the world crumble"

"Hurry, get this on tape!
We're gonna be famous!
This can't wait
The not so innocent will remain nameless"

"One lump or two?"
"Seven"

"There's no place like home"

"Unbeknownst to me, my rose has been thrown for me"

"I don't know you, but that's where you are"

"Bad form"
"Poor character"
"Unsportsmanlike conduct
Yellow card, take five in the box"

"I've spared Jacopo  
He will be my right hand man
Let's hop in the hot air balloon
And get my revenge"

Now I'm high and high poetry works really well, as per experience so here we go.

Music always helps me when I write
I just let it take me somewhere.
I'm here now.

I don't know where exactly "here" is, but I like it here.
Nothing matters in the land where the music comes from.
Everyone is free the experience whatever they want to without fear of being judged by anyone because all anybody cares about is how the music makes them feel and the journey that they are on.

And then sometimes you meet that one person that shares a moment with you on your journey.
Someone that has the same experience as you when you hear that cry of the creature of the land that music comes from.
And they are the most beautiful person in the world to you at that moment.
You would do anything for them
In that moment.

And then as soon as the creature of the land where music comes from opens it's mouth to sing that beautiful song that brought you two together he closes it and they disappear.
        
Forever.

Because nobody ever feels the same way about a song twice.
There is always something different the next time.

You're never different.

******.
     Dauntingly so.
Haunting light.
     Emits,
From hazy heads.

Crystals to my cranium.
Crepuscular rays in my hair.
Homeless is how I'd like to be.

Anticipation climaxes
the moment you unscrew
that seal tight jar
keeping hazy secrets
locked away.
    You're about to touch the
    snow-kissed mountain tops
    and breath air so pure,
    it distorts the very heartbeat,
and that feeling granted only by the enemy
--sobriety--
drags you to hell itself.
It gets off tormenting your every particle of being
but you're clouded in a smokey shield and
wielding the winning sword colored ash black
  (obsidian
     volcanic
       explosive)

Defeat is on the horizon
and you're so high above the battleground
that a giddy serenity enfolds you into the
golden-dipped sunset

But the height only lasts
for as long as you hold in
that choking air

and it's gone

and your sanity returns

and you've never felt
more insane
than ever
before.

Seeing a small tree's death
Takes away my breath
Much more than other people's do;
For it had so much more to live
So much more life to give
Than either me or you.

My mother only had one son
But it ain’t enough

I’ve paid all my dues
It ain’t enough

Oh no
Rolling on to ruin
Gluing quarters to the roof
Make a dollar, it’s the rule

Used as a man, seen as a boy
This is all
Am I moving too slowly?
Does anything move?

Roaming over love until noon
Rapid rivers look brand new
Licking scabbed wounds

Overlook my truancy
As if you’ve never known
Looking for nonexistent proof
Looking over cratered moons