up-start waking, wide-eyed staring at 2am, fingering pages of dismembered dead trees and shrouding thoughts in the void of shining ink wells as bottomless as these dilating pupils

calloused nubs upon the tulip tips of fingers, within a week, playing guitar and breaking 4 strings as quickly as will bends the metal bodies out of breath again … rehashing melodies was always the most difficult

delivery, delivery, 10 books and more coming, paging and listening and eating words, more than practicallity time-space-matter will allow, desire running past physicality, and this wind hits the 4th and 5th and 6th fret, stinging singing, flourish my intestine ache

sour lips from bland tasting, your breath stagnant in perfection and i am left cracking jokes of irreverence, spoken word was never my strong moment, it is all one marvelous diversion, one bad joke from the next, to me. meaning is butchered with flare and cheap spice taste

and i, i wish for something more than this … as always