Yawning again, the morning was in waking
Revolvers and jests.
Revolvers in vested instruments of less than
No man or woman,
What no man or woman
Could ever hope to replace, or recommend, I won't
Say it, not ever again.
"Say what?"
"It sounds too stupid."
"Is it? Or is
That just the wit's end, the fount-ain, popping off, popping off..."
The pen is more a good friend then some. In some and
Some say. A Ten. O Perfect
And
Again, imperfect,
Slid but shine. I am want to begin:
A fane. The country music player plays soft
But it's nothing really, nothing really
To turn off. It's just Marie! Marie! There in
The mountains, there you feel free.
I reap much in the night and go south in the
Spring, tongues with no-names.
There she sits at the top of the stair admiring.
Wake me up some cold December morning, early,
Before the sun comes up, both us wake slowly,
At about half the speed, at about half the pace. Out
Into those rooms and streets half-pouring into
The entire city's potent sorts and sorties. The states
Of emotion, the contests unknown, the comings and goings,
Into a room where the women, as you're knowing, you know then—
It shows them, far more than you or I can, far more than
What we could ever hope to attain. On the shores
Of a private beach in Michigan, I can connect one on one, fain
Searching for the same dance or beast we reckoned
With, whirling with purpose that day. Overall, the last year had been near
Perfect. The Bruin's had not won at all then but
The late-summer air was returning autumnal and my
Crisp memories often recall, neither here nor there,
Miss, neither near here nor there at all, but I don't miss
It enough just to toss up some hurdle. Let it simmer
And mellow, left up on the wall, undressed and en-veloped,
The echo of sea-gulls, the call. The marching-mans
Stance, give em the 'ol one-two, one-two hand—epiphany!
Elope then,—what plans? I have surrendered my purchase.
On the brink of possibility I sat down in the sand, "Where is
My peace," then, "Where is my friend!" And then my peace comes in nigh,
Right perfect, I say, "Let's begin."
Enjoy Brightly. Fuck Coke.
The Empire and the Surface.
I'm not scratching,
I'm the shadow you see beneath you.
So tell me something I don't already know because,
In my sense, the bells of freedom must be ringing, my ears
Have long been true! Break glass and exhume please, fuck
A purchase. A sheaf of coincidence is buried deep within
This page, watch it settle as I will set the pace. A
Marker made me up, this isn't funny. It isn't perfect.
I make things up to tell what's perfect. I made this
Up to tell someway, a way I came to know what must be Perfect, and I'll tell you
One thing must be if just one thing ain't. Now I'll muster up some courage,
Enough is enough, this license is given to be frank.
Now, have I given you enough lumps of gold here
Or will the dross just entertain. Dwell deeper, dig
Deeper, lover-fear. You are all the same here, you
Will not remain. Would you like to sit and linger
Or be drifting off each way is, now then. I have my
Finger upon the trigger, "Pulse," it says, "Gunfire again."
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