The guardians’ eyes
Fixate on a fly
Death’s theory becomes prominent
In focus, fear leaves
The fly is unharmed
As well as excitement, disarmed
Thoughts become a slideshow
Ease of suffering grows on trees

This couch is warm
But this room still so cold
The lies you speak are new
But this story’s oh so old
And now the presence in my heart
Grows weary can’t you tell
That I knew right from the start
You’d drag me straight on to hell, yeah
Know that I know, I know that I know
I can’t wait
Again

And so alone
The streets breathe like smoke
The lies you speak are new
But the story’s oh so old
And now the languid smell of ash
Made me imagine the past
If death could take me back
Forget this bliss I’ve cast, yeah
Know that I know, I know that I know
I can’t wait
Again

Well I’m your left man baby
Keep this woman out of sight
We’ll I’m your left man baby
Keep this woman out of mind
This girl is talking like she knows me
Oh but please how many more times
My woman she left up north
To the wood is where she ran
My woman she left up north
To the wood is where she ran
But the trees oh darling
Couldn’t find her right man
The dreams don’t stop coming
And I’m losing track of time
The dreams don’t stop coming
And I’m losing track of time
Got to get me a new girl child
Got to drain her my empty mind
The road it’s my savior
Deliver me while you can
The road it’s my savior
Deliver me while you can
Don’t want to hear you speak baby
I’m still just your left man

I want to move
Like the nomad
Like the no-man’s
Land stretching from pinky to thumb
Enthusiasm kills quick like none
Other ideas pushed a side
Of the moon that never gets old
Man train of thought
I would never grow this
Oppressive




                                4 corners

Well they say Jesus was a sailor, but the blind men couldn’t float
So I just sat in the river and watched as my skin erode
Escape is a verb not used by the ones who speak it
Give love and take action on the ones who may critique it  
  
Let’s all pray for the kid who dreams in black and white
See’s people as colors, knows aura on sight
Lives to die to leave his footprint
And has been writing ever since
He loves the idea of people talking about him in past tense  

Life is so much sweeter when you breathe through your imperfections
You see it all in slow motion as it spills in all directions
It’s a theater of war between the sleepers and the accepting
Until you look into a mirror and notice that it’s not reflecting

Despite the frustration flaunting his bedspread
I despise the energy it takes to proof bread
                    “an hour at least”
                               No
                      I’m quite nocturnal
I stay awake with the moon, owls, and turtles
Who play cards in their shells
Subconscious betting
As we ante up because
Every son is setting, out

The black dove is perched,
near its keepers gritty window
clipped at the wing, and blown to the past
Destined for insanity, alone
in his cage
never to breath
to fly
to last

Where there is hope, it ceased to believe
of such an idea, this bird could conceive
His keeper, in pieces, swept up by high tide
his mission unknown, black dove suicide.