When you're a joker
In a serious crowd
They can look at you like an idiot.
They will say you take nothing serious,
Witing you off for a Myshkin.
When quips are flying,
Well overhead.
Be direct, be loud.
Politeness & subtlety, are of no use
To folks with heads
Buried squarely in the ground

Blood from a stone;
Vulcan, erupt.
In his Ares heart,
Of the Zeno soul.
The battle drags on
For a cause, I do not know.

Easy to conceive,
The likes of thousands of souls
All as miserable as me.
In the likes of this world,
Like moss on a tree.
Stumped, but still living.

You can describe
The awe inducing beauty
Of a sun kissed morn
Or of the towering, starry night sky
And never realize it's value

A bad day away
From the end of things,
Cause not a person stays.

And everything remains the same,

Despite all the change.

An hour to twelve,
When the clock strikes.
I burn one down.

And the match reminds me of hell;

Of dark depths, lit by scorching light.

Most deepest of desires, and precious hopes
We are fond of holding you close,
Fearful we will share our thoughts

And be lost to ourselves

To understand, what we know we never can

Alone in the wind,
Blowing me once again,
Someplace, far off from here.
Better to live admist, breeze and mist,
In the clouds, awaiting a writ
To come on down, from a supposed higher power
Than labor on the wager
That things get better.

Tender flesh, pale & thin;
Cigarette burns pock cratered skin.
Entrails that entail, poison foretaste.
Hidden, not much to be read, that
Of false smiles, on a plaster face.
The cancer within,
Almost at its brim,
Building to the self-consumption
Surely bound to take it's place.