I like to pretend in alternate uni… where everything is almost the sam… just different in a few spots under another sun the two of us worked

stopped by a red light engine sputters memories he goes with what’s gone

i entered into my junior high poet… with such a sense of excitement to share the craft that i had disc… just a couple years earlier a craft that my gramma had

in all restaurants madness overwhelms the staff spirits break like plates

sipping cocktails in a dark corner… lit with cigarettes and neon we edged ourselves closer to the end of our stools to the end of our drinks

i don’t believe anything i read unless it’s a poem

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

now when I say “forever” I don’t mean too

early this morning fresh was the only way we could imagine ourselves soft to the teeth

you drag a soul around in a body and some nights it’s a bag of bricks wondering if there’s anything left to dream for

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

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,