time is one my side but what time is it? is it Killing Time?
it burned slow as i sat in front of a mirror listening to overplayed psychedeli… music from the 60's it was the first time i ever smoke…
there she was again in my dreams last night perhaps it is faulty programming a virus or malware but for whatever reason
peering into your eyes i am trying to understand you hoping to know you a little better with each glance when the world is mad
seven years ago almost home coming over the bridge from a show in The Windy City we hit the ice
you drag a soul around in a body and some nights it’s a bag of bricks wondering if there’s anything left to dream for
the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here
i entered into my junior high poet… with such a sense of excitement to share the craft that i had disc… just a couple years earlier a craft that my gramma had
still he saws at the legs of his Steinway old habits only die hard so he tickles the ivory cigarette hanging from his lips
if you’ve show up to the poetry re… with no poems to read you better worry because you can’t go on stage with… so start looking for an exit
time reduced to ash all the clocks were made of fire burning each second
the only boss i care to listen to on Labor Day
darkness does not pass suddenly nor does the light surrounding it though her love was a shadow i reticently remember hints of a star
i would be excited to hold it tickle its little belly and watch it laugh if it cried i would search enthusiastically
every doughnut tastes like tauntin… classmates laughing and making jokes at your expense every slice of pizza reminds you
