love farm...? or law firm...? thats the quest--
sometimes i get pissed off. then i find something that relates to gettin pissed and it makes me happier than i woulda been if i hadn'ta been so goddamned fucked up in the firsty place. kinda reminds me of the guy who invented the pet rawk or the jump to conclusions mat. or rawk rawk.
sometimes it's a lot of work to show people how nerdy you are.... and gettin drunk is easy.
ps. building websites is hard.
so is buildin trainwrecks in the setting sun, as the song goes.
but i guess we're doin it anyway...
tucked in
to let come
the wash of ebullient phantasmagoria
above eyes shut tight
ebbing round the ears
the smell of soil a tether
in lucid paralysis
like distant bells
the rhythm of silent steps
that defined our blue mornings
sneaking out
beyond wraiths steaming in the fields
running for the unending shore
untucked shirt
socks with holes
splashing and shivering in the green grey murk
the smooth tingling of stones
after smoking in secret
in the center of a southern live oak
the twang of sunrise and insects
we traipsed all rag and bone
down gravel roads
and rolled in the ditch with the dogs
scratching at mud covered scars
and gnawing on charred shishkebabs
our knives on the rocks
stacks of buttermilk pancakes
fish on ice and beer in the creek
in the dying light
guitars softly
flickering with the campfire
voices stretched long beyond our shadows
carried by wind through the trees like a feverish eidolon
toward a huge moon fighting through turbid clouds
our eager frames
still not exhausted
tucked in to freezing covers
by tan obsequious hands
whiskey lips blowing out dusty lanterns
giving birth to new soft shapes
in a wash of reverie
as the dawn
not far off
seemed to share our mutual longing
for release into that sodden atmosphere
too soon vanishing like a trick of the mind
eternally lingering at the edge of memory
like a lost gaze of a haggard comrade
shaking off the dew
sometimes it's a lot of work to show people how nerdy you are.... and gettin drunk is easy.
ps. building websites is hard.
so is buildin trainwrecks in the setting sun, as the song goes.
but i guess we're doin it anyway...
tucked in
to let come
the wash of ebullient phantasmagoria
above eyes shut tight
ebbing round the ears
the smell of soil a tether
in lucid paralysis
like distant bells
the rhythm of silent steps
that defined our blue mornings
sneaking out
beyond wraiths steaming in the fields
running for the unending shore
untucked shirt
socks with holes
splashing and shivering in the green grey murk
the smooth tingling of stones
after smoking in secret
in the center of a southern live oak
the twang of sunrise and insects
we traipsed all rag and bone
down gravel roads
and rolled in the ditch with the dogs
scratching at mud covered scars
and gnawing on charred shishkebabs
our knives on the rocks
stacks of buttermilk pancakes
fish on ice and beer in the creek
in the dying light
guitars softly
flickering with the campfire
voices stretched long beyond our shadows
carried by wind through the trees like a feverish eidolon
toward a huge moon fighting through turbid clouds
our eager frames
still not exhausted
tucked in to freezing covers
by tan obsequious hands
whiskey lips blowing out dusty lanterns
giving birth to new soft shapes
in a wash of reverie
as the dawn
not far off
seemed to share our mutual longing
for release into that sodden atmosphere
too soon vanishing like a trick of the mind
eternally lingering at the edge of memory
like a lost gaze of a haggard comrade
shaking off the dew