THE ARTIST constantly trying to get somewhere he
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…
what happened to it? pen with which he wrote the note ink of his last words
he staples a sign to a telephone p… hoping that anyone can help him find it winter is coming and he dreads the thought of it
she loved him before when life was a game he played and she loves him still
now when I say “forever” I don’t mean too
tailored finely to be worn proudly on the dance floor on the moon over top-shelf martinis over the rainbow
we all trip over our own comfort and wherever we land is the lie we build a home on whatever love is we only do it when we have to
loading the chamber to kill that which he fears most one round will suffice
that is another man’s suicide if i kill myself there will be hookers
every doughnut tastes like tauntin… classmates laughing and making jokes at your expense every slice of pizza reminds you
i don’t believe anything i read unless it’s a poem
just in case we never find each ot… if the days between us are forever… if the moon has led you to another… if you travel always the road away… just in case we awake
in the name of what whispers we sing softly the final song of the end of the w… as a lullaby to each other and minor melodies pass over our l…
word traveled fast about the man with the crying ears sad with silence an absence of music left an absence in him
