the lavish liberty of lust unbound in the salacity of self a lover may take too long or doesn’t take long enough a lover may manipulate you

Once I was a psychopath who took quite a shine to his ax. Many times I’d leave a blood bath… but meticulously clean, and particularly keen,

dawn is a coffin stars take their graves in morning come night, resurrect

walking down Rundberg a gentleman of the homeless junkie… approaches me from ahead “hey mayne ima be hones wischu

if you dream me dream me without these horns without scorn back beside the lord

i walk like an appetizer onto the moonlight tongue the wine is in my blood

bills soaring like birds costs of living get higher income, falls from nest

still he saws at the legs of his Steinway old habits only die hard so he tickles the ivory cigarette hanging from his lips

a best friend to kings faith substitutes for justice god will keep us poor

isolated Sunday bicycle rides tend to compel long winded speeche… character dialogues from stories i… and plenty of l’esprit d’escalier i speak with the dead

sunlight makes love to the earth an orgasm of photosynthesis from the heat of their passion tulips are born

what happened to it? pen with which he wrote the note ink of his last words

the blade has always been dull how it was made never

he burns through the keys in hopes to unlock himself with freedom of song

so close to travels rocks along the railroad tracks never board the train