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And what is this- the stuff of dreams? Is it a gateway to the subconscious as we've been told or merely a jumbling of thoughts and images- some indecipherable, nocturnal unraveling
Bells.Ring deafeningly.With means of girls and boys.Underneath the original singing.Like bells we were once new and brass.Then reality kicks you in the ass.The metal rusts as you walk from class to class.Subtly the tone turning into sass.As bells
Wanna know how many dudes I’ve banged? well sit down take a biopsy of the inner walls of my blood pumper my blood thumper wait what do you see? oh I know little tiny letters that read “we’re sorry for the…”
I can’t believe you would do this to me Sitting in silence, qui vive that night New Year’s Eve When you hung yourself from a cucumber tree   Tragedy, they say
America   Have we got what we sought out— Have we deafened our ears— Have we defended with honor— Have we lasted the years?   Learned to love and learned to hate,
The air is thick but the breeze runs swiftly, And the road winds daintily As you drive us to our favorite place. The one we know so well From years of picnics and adventures,
How is it like to resume?   Strobe lights and that's a grand foyer. Was not water. Grass and more grass, and a railroad elongating reluctantly to some point; A tornado of railroad.
A rush enters like a veiling curtain Of cascading water; A vaporous fall, endlessly joining Aqueous substances below. Descending from a starlit heaven, How could my heart retain
The deepest crimson adorns A canvas skin, Wrapped securely in its hued dimension.
Away from my body, Exiting the mental noise. I observe the feathered edge of light Surrounding these form-bearing objects. What is the meaning of meaning? The stem-held nerve endings sway
Closed eyes embrace noir,and as light fadeswe become one with the superficial.
there it is, the tapestry of the impassably steep. a precipitous rambling through numb metal music stands or beads with holes or girls named after states. the pass is steep. it force feeds nearly every
  In raging currents, all was lost, A child tossed crimson yarn about the wind-struck rocks, others stowed away in wrinkles of the sea. They hid inside dragonfly homes. When the tide unfolded, 
Happiness lost within a tired reality A reality that rather be fiction Fiction that wishes to be reality The mind unravels to an unwanted place a place that's been deferred  
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