Laughter and ejaculate
Wistful thoughts that bend don’t break bring me to a place of rest. Falling beams, sunlit stars, perch on the edge of blinking shadows where things, just and honest things, are dark.
Walking barefoot in a place where glass has shattered is less of a risk. Half moon to full moon and back again and again and again and…
remember those sagacious words that slipped by ears not ready to hear. Holding heaven in your hands gold flecks cut my throat. Truly, it tastes like olive juice delicately mixed with vodka and chilled to perfection. Around around we go, where we stop is entirely dependent on the fickle nature of that bitch.
There is bigness to come. A reign of something more, endless rain and rain, can we boycott Mother Nature?
Bored with the old ball and chain, the life emptied into a shallow plastic baggy, one more ride, ride once more. The highs and lows are much more fun when the fun is so expensive. Cost, determined by something other than Ben. The soul pays for it, I tell you, the soul.
The cadence is more the drive than the meaning at times and motion, emotion, is fraught with jagged edges. Don’t forget, rhythm is a dancer. No one can say an effort to participate was not made by all. Just because one did not see the fault of their selfish ways, there are wire hangers in this house. Don’t worry that at 25 you’ve seen you life ride by in a swirl of taffeta, settle down, settle up, just settle.
Work on the listening dear boy, because otherwise the drip drop of a patient girl is going to drip drop no more.
And the girl, she’ll turn out a shiny quarter for fresh linens.