The East Wind

Bright and friendly, like we called the last waking moments of a peanut shell, born and raised the lovable adorations of another penniless vagabond Bond, a martini in hand shaken and stirred to a questionable resolve. Muppet tops and flimsy crops, permeates the air that so luckily abandoned whatever the sense have simmerd to a boil. Perfections and prefects, zoned into a marshmallow joy unforeseen and locked in a Gordian twist. On camera like the rest of the world, blinded by the blank page the heaviest resolve the hip my angel and hop my hearts. I wish Ginsburg was alive to beat on but theresn't a time and a place and a decision to reverse.

I like riddles but I do not like solutions to questions no one asked and there is only a time and a space to remember the fillers and weed out the ones that matters like the form that isn't pertinent and the matter that is work. The am i turning into the thing i hate or am i not the kinda that i loved to begin with question begins and ends in a whimper, an invisible in audible bleep on an LCD. Whereforth has thou gone, period. Long have I gone the path of the righteous and I am tired.

Tired of a virtuous life? when there's nothing left to burn of oneself, but there is always, something the other, the more, the bells, bells, bells, silver bells, like the tinkering of the shells, ever ever, more.

God I was praying to the Divine, as if I've all of a sudden gained faith in the things that I found disappointing, boring, mundane, lame, in other words, the way we describe... the shower. From real love. I sing still