At this moment we escape our own time line that is nothing more than fate dressed in its finest.
going to the party alone and hopeless.
a time we cant see or touch but is all too real.
This will never happen again.
this is not a second coming.
A half hearted yell at the end of the universe.

Turn, turn around

Its yours to find
it is all you have
I am all alone
to fall in love with this
this light is too dim
with thoughts so loud
how a deaf man hears
spatially decomposing
maggots of the social elite
feeding on cheap beer and gossip
could there be a chrysalis here
with anchors on ankles
this is shark infested alcohol
Mr. Bad Ideas carries a straight razor
and a journal in his eyes
Fuck your moleskein
the cracks in my side walk say more
the floor shifts
moon beams hit my face
I sat and remembered to remember everything
this is what it smells like
it feels like
and this is my song.

this storm marching

buried under a pine-cone avalanche
drop the needles
Red timber stands
dockside
sunrise, sunset
flame licks this to copulate my divining rod
parallel universes
falling further towards nothing than imagined
ride this pale horse on
into the sunset or towords this end,
this sickness,
this sleep,
this station.
Burial grounds under a thousand bones
Flower petals frail under the weight of heat
the flood of molten ash to bury
holding on to what is precious to you
that was to me
you were to us
fall out winter in grey clouded heads
a choice to live is
a choice to live so hard it hurts
this is not mine
nor the angel
but we give in to nothing less than that
if i die before i wake
wake before i die
sleep before I rest
and care every day non the less.
yet sleep is a cousin of death.