The return of the golden-winged ship.
Rooted deep below the knee.
The feathers sail wildly.
It wont be the last time.
The laughter we had.
Bones glued to running.
The pirates went mad.
Like old friends.
The wine goes empty.
Each day a new century.
The snow falls as if
birds shed like dogs.
White to the gray to
the black til its gone.
Just to swing is a
reason to smile.
Adjusting wings to
drift by in smile.
Find their destination.
Find their size.
They may be six.
They could be twelve.
And when they quit.
They pass the growth.
On to where we need it most.
Only holding up under.
Streaks of the shade.
Its too late for the
watch to be set.
Captain Hook options.
What'd they expect?
Occasions spin windless
forgiveness of millions.
Witless insistence in
The sweet lady walks.
Bassline projection within
the horn section.
Theres a glass.
Its never empty.
The sound combines.
With all the crowd
Malfunctioning luscious with
Circular mandates for
all who explore.
Maybe our blinking is
brand new beginnings.
Maybe the end sings
life was worth living.
He was not sure if where his feet were planted,
indicated where he stood.
One arm yanked by believers,
tugging on the hand of an emerging hero.
The other shoulder gaining displacement from the lovingly faithless encouragement.
What is left is a chest.
The sky behind it bleeding color.
Through frontal clouds breathes a swiss cheese sunset.
Stomach pains and aching knees.
A torso bent confusion pose.
A three-eyed face.
War torn nose.
Sewing itself closed.
Broken back the weight tremendous.
Mindful madness nonsense prose.
Whats it take for shoulder blades,
to feather wings and just escape?
When rails get stretched too far apart,
trains impale us through the heart.
Burgundy pages with stains on the stainless cause wages are made but wont make it all painless.
Painting wont save all the falling from graces a mirror the surface the brushes are wasted.
The bristles are faceless.
Their holders awakened.
Creating a city thats built for erasing.
Elation is shaking.
Elation is breaking.
Brains reflecting grains of sand.
Power in the palm of hands.
Circling slowly underneath.
A sky that lets its darkness speak.
An argument with rising waves.
Who wish the light would keep them safe.
Would leave all three.
With a choice.
Believe the sun will find its voice?
Beggars and fables and keggers and bagels.
Cain in your Abel awake and unstable.
The label reads nothing its empty inside.
The brave will do something their brain never tried.
The brave is just something us humans equate.
To moments emotions of ours dont relate.
Its strange when the strange are alive and awake.
And its strange we've evolved to invade outer space.
Trade each other love just by changing facial shapes.
Like it will never seem again.
Lives abiding time as if the times devised by them.
Breath is on a clock but the time it never ends.
Confusion is the answer.
All the world is still and still we hate the dancer.
Ransom is the anthem of the motionless at hand.
Broken is the man who leaves his footprints in the sand.
Phonaesthetics and level reference.
Hypothetic and devil metrics.
Instead of the clover mixup we're over inhaling hiccups in order to cease the feet we sold to own defeat they used to stroll so epic but left us so high pathetic.
Whats next is a set of questions.
Anesthetics and level reference.
There wasn't left to lose.
To fill it all with love until the loving has been used.
Wine that whines the evening brow until we can unwind somehow.
And it is joy.
With dirty fingernails.
Configured reaching sales.
To trade him for his reach it was a painting for his bail.
Did not order release they could see the mans at peace.
Inside the bars hes free and in his world he grows a tree.
Responsibility until the rapture of the leaves.
Someone told me crisis precipitates change.
Do you believe, what you see?
Perhaps the mountains say what they need.
To make the ocean love to feed.
And then regurgitate the beach.
The mischievous queens.
Lit with a fire that burns when it bleeds.
Theres sand in our cleats.
Athletically dodging the grips of defeat.
Maybe its over.
Maybe its not.
But they will keep running they said we should not so the only resort involves falling down shot.
And a shot for the pain and a glass for the name.
Absolute office and hazardous games.
Hand on our times the most eager of lines.
Breaking our chests onto opposite sides.
Breathing through vests.
The archer is accurate.
Casually matching his flight with our abdomens.
Catching the bricks.
Stacking them quickly.
Working in shifts.
We are learning to shuffle and hustle and shake all the weight from our toes til they make a mistake.
And some of us found the strength in the ground even ways to escape and never be found.
Surrounded by loss its survival at least with love in our hands and madness in feet.
We breathe on until.
An arrow is true.
Or until we break.
And the madness consumes.
Speaking of madness.
Its not all that bad.
Sometimes there are people,
who have what you have.
And its often unnoticed,
in opposite quotients.
Cause we're all divided alone with emotions.
Better than I ever knew.
The jedi blade thats tried and true.
Greater good with sacrifice.
The document thats strong lives twice.
Its never enough.
If enough is established.
As finding a place,
where nothing will change.
Day is night and night is day if numbers build the tune thats played.
Speaks to say.
The difference of love and the fear is an instant.
Insistent on inner ambitious persistence.
Hesitation to be saved.
Cause madness is brave.
Anything to give and build a life thats unafraid.
But who's to judge the path you chose.
If life itself is unopposed.
There are Mona Lisas.
They try to find to satisfy their aching thighs that burn from trails of moonlit trials on winding miles awake and tired they sacrifice their blind desire just to set their minds on fire.
And even if the record skips.
It kept playing right?
The beautiful lies in mistake driven highs and lows that consume the joy that we hide.
Its alright to be scared.
Thats honest behavior.
Cause theres no escape from the end that awaits us.
Which makes us all kin.
And spreads us all thin.
Sleepless eyes and insatiable grins.
Organs reflect the dominos.
Options of the ominous.
Andromeda and envelopes.
Containing the words.
That attempt to make sense of emotions and nerves.
Seems the more he learns.
The less he understands.
So few share the eyes to devise a master plan.
And who's to say that his even stand a random chance?
It must just be the wine and a wide creative stance.
The spies can walk.
Freely amongst us.
Their technical combat awake to injustice.
They may have a panel,
complete with the walkers,
multiple channels and scared little animals.
May reach for a pen or pound on a snare.
Lift up a brush or dance on a chair.
The strings may lift so fingers strike.
Inside erupting singing life.
Documenting every step.
The world around them lets them get.
Pieces that die make puzzles that fly.
Umbrellas protect and when the wind, it gets thick.
We climb outside the rain on a Mary Poppins trip.
And Vitamin C.
Aligning the stars so the planets agree.
Swinging. And missing.
Connecting. And stripping.
If only forgiving.
Could lift all the living.
Write our novellas.
With open umbrellas.