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
THE ARTIST constantly trying to get somewhere he
it is not just missing the good times slamdancing in a circle pit with your best buds at a rock show blacklit basement parties
brief landings never fool me my thoughts are made of tornadoes and I know the mind will never sit… “where the heart is” is the name of a bullshit map
it’s been so long without a touch lips pressed deeply against mine fingers brushing through my beard… i have reclaimed my virginity bumbling and nervous in the presen…
they’ve never looked as deeply as… into the centers of your alluring and final eyes they’ve never watched you dance slowly and dark like the end…
the darker the room the more I needed her she was scented with tobacco and cedar
seven years ago almost home coming over the bridge from a show in The Windy City we hit the ice
slippery bars make it hard to hold… captive against your will always lathered in the sweat of es… you elude any sentence
when the piano notes are dancing rhythms of candle light it’s hard to hear the fire go out the room cools its quiet wakes your fear
sound becomes idea phenomenon of music as to hear a soul
i would be excited to hold it tickle its little belly and watch it laugh if it cried i would search enthusiastically
at odds with the sky I have rid myself of every feather and with my beak i have chewed off… of my wings if i am to see my dreams die
if ever he drowns a swimmer will miss water life regrets no death
it misses the way we use to sit and breathe together inhaling and exhaling
