sunlight declares a peace it doesn't possess, drenching the world in quiet; quiet like your eyes when they turned into the night. people show their true selves in the words they use on sundays, after all the friday night smiles have been washed out & what remains is anxiety or tenderness, & the soft rustle of red & yellow leaves on the ground,...
finally a halt, after mad, noisy rushes watching learners cross pens and lips in an attempt to pull something pretty out of the world in passing. your desert boots are not made for kicking anyone, so you climb up walls instead, and split them open to let in the autumn air and dead leaves. cover yourself in them, and let the music wash...
coming home late at night in a hot daze and crashing on the sofa blasting the naked and famous, it's just me and my heartbeat and the night and the sky is beautiful. something about the softness of the night makes me stay awake in a haze, i could write into dawn. life is a series of soft and hard textures; here it...
sky shining in the rainy basements, i just spent life in the desert, and am still cleaning out the dust from my throat. between razor blade edges and waking up in sweat, sometimes all we got is that evening look in the lift mirror; eyes wide and torn, skin wearing the day, and a mouth that's born for more. so we howl from...
i lie awake and low, thinking of loved muted minds trapped in acts of noxious ins and outs; another sip, another shot of that toxin please, as we drink to health, to wild wild mental wealth. bodies creaking under the weight of entwined scents, all mixes into one in a mute collision, to rise and evaporate, a heavy, brutal cloud; the air shivers...
