Not even coffee could do the trick this time
It was just a basement of a week and this time the gate's rusted shut
but maybe it's better that way, or this way in the perfectly clockwise formation of
my thinking about the cosmic surface and subliminal afterthought
I zone out:
Zooming out, spanning the larger sense of my likes or dishonest framing
it all comes down to this incessant desire for toolless creation
Shaping sentences with premises of decades pa**ed and friends I never had
It's all starting to wear holes in my shoes and one's so big you could fall upwards into my
stomping while we dance to the Dylan record
Rock n rolling joints to lift the spirits while we're young enough to say we've got no plans later tonight
So if you're available, send me a look and a gla** of half-honest stories
Tall enough to drown me in your bullsh**
I bet it tastes like wildflower in winter