Nostalgia, love of old, Ballads, jazz and soul. Like plants that grow, No matter of distance, Our roots are at home. Touched upon her form, Lasting, no fall or saddle, Forever, as if upon a horse.
Sometimes, I feel alone, Like water over stones, Though as the river runs, Eventually, I'll find more. Like the ocean borders, Welcome with open doors, Like you and I, of course, No need for Trojan horses. Then, no need for anything more.
Arms, fall to arms, Promised heaven, Gone forever. Far, far too long, Galloping horses, Opposite direction.
Blue, green, In between, To me? It's everything. But they only see through me, Shield to shield, grit teeth, Never can I achieve peace. It never appealed to me, Supposedly. But, little does, Just a few blue themes. So, to routine... For you, more meaning. Cold reading: "horses, leeches". Vernacular dances, In between: Lavender, Lapis, Cerulean. Javelins, catchers, In between: Distance, anger, Foolishness. But, that's not how they saw me. Target practice, fresh meat, Free of lines like double basses, Yet to see it's own selfish strings. Yet, upon a blue sky, I fly and sing.
Like the sun heats sand, Marrow, lemon, butter. Yellow begets yellow. You can get by, off nomenclatures, You can get off of your oral favours, High horse and compare your god. Yellow teeth, shallow gums, fallow claws, Yellow is the sun that follows you home, Yellow is Chicago, Toronto and New York. Kill fellow flowers to see if he loves you, A selfish color that swallows you whole. Reach the threshold for silence, clap. It takes not much for violence to start. Although, you know that. So, like the sun meets the sand, Grassland or temperant meadow. Yellow begets yellow, Green, brown and red. You can get by, off those things you said, Oral favours or fine works of art you posess. I see the yellow for what it is.
Yellow, and a bit of blue, Both, I, and you. Purple, Lilac, I just care not for it. Just like you never cared for me, Or any of the things that I thought. Fetch mother, friends, for comfort. Tell your co workers, or consort. I, no longer for dramatic concert, Agriculture of the hallway, march, July, august or months of autumn, Yellow, burst into skies of orange. See If I toss and turn about it. Like, he drives a porche, owns gold, Fire and opal in his coat pockets. Like, the eyes of horses see god, They see not much beyond carrots, Understand little of soap, clothes. Like, maybe you cared for poems, Little for poets, less even for prose.
Gold ochres, yellow turns to orange, But the yellow never changes in you, Does it? Thorn forest, there grows roses. Though tulips, begonia warn you, The world is full of your kin, Thoroughbred horses, Who rub their backs in shit. You are a squid that inks, then drinks it. I never was no poet, caged like a rabbit, Trapped, nor boxed with lines, unknowing. You are a skunk, stinks, and eat begonias. So, though two lips beg on, like au jus, You toot, toot toot, greasy after the booze. I've seen a world full of your kin: Fools... Whose blue oceans brown in pollution, Tulips by piss puddles, without allusion. You are a fun person, is my conclusion, Maybe red can change to an orange, Blue, though, can never be less blue, You can never really be a better person, Just accept yourself, I love you.
View from Toronto, others, also. Best seen, like without follow. A shadow, born of a shadow, How can it fathom less hollow, Habitual patterns in a modern world? Coming tomorrow is gun conflicts, Cult worship, communion with objects. The coward screams like an apostle. Future prospects, like luminous stars, Lay dinosaur bones in scarlet houses. Bloodshed so widespread and obvious, Like polearms in the side of your horse, Desire and goals become simply doors, Where do theirs divide from yours? Like ingots, in fire or war.
Compare deceased, compare diseases, Civil registry, never ending dreams. Quiet, discontented tree: Questions vex me silent, Why do we drink of selfish need? Why do we eat to reddish green? Why do they scream your scaring me, While I achieve new levels of self deceit? It responds, about roots and leaves, Tools and people, fools and fees. It's beyond me to understand. Again indeed. Only man writes with a pen, Ire infinite, to the final syllable. A point most misunderstand: Life is not miracles, appearances, Science fiction or analyzing images, It's mostly the wheres and whens, Indeeds said again, friends you miss. Like all the pyramids get built, You'll find they went brick by brick. Like kids, chimes in the wind, Ideally they play without worry, Not re-examine life endlessly, Like a firing squad that never hits. Like a chime without another, It takes only one to be lonely, Two people to live. Hair recedes, favour leaves, Ferris wheels and screams, Once again, the tree speaks, This time about seasons, Blues and greens, Views and seeds, You open your own mouth, freely, Someone else's dreams. Again indeed. A mirror responds vaguely, Instead of self reflection sees, Things that terrify, Even when they close their eyes and they sleep. One could compare their life to a sheep, Sheppard, or favoured elite. What one eats someone decides, Where one sleeps someone else decides, Who one sees is limited, they cry. But they compare to a bar too high. Then with their time, belies, nevers, freezes. Feelings of timidness, cheapness, lies, Triangles you hope to avoid thinking, Inevitably though you need drink. You need some chips, think about it. You need a horse to ride to the store, Because you're lazy as shit. So I guess just hope for the best, But also go for it. Again, Indeed.
Alone, he works, A loan, he works, Alone he works his loan off, Alone of course. And alone in the dark he hopes, For a road that leads north. A lot like a microphone, like a diving horse of war, Spoken to, of, admired so, By eye, tongue or sword
Flag, Grab a torch, same hand, Have fun with your vote: Another hand a sword, It opens a can of corn. Fake hammer throw, Judges, like rabbits, Run back to their holes. Rather than face the day, The code and its ghosts. Instead, They make jokes, they make shows, They make notes, that, of course, Exclude their track record of control. That dirt road, saddled by war, Addled by the hammers thrown, Fools who took no land unknown, Who speak a language encoded, Take advantage of the locals. What is wealth, cash of course? But it's also a canvass of bone, Grass in the mouth of a mud horse.
In the car, cutting corners, Misnomer, or misfortune; Of emotion, a disclosure All I feel is the moment, Brushing motion and smell of burning horses. Of importance: Kings and clowns, With benefit of doubt, One is better without.
A horse runs, devoid of time, A whale dives, despite depth, Vowel Rhyme, Towel, dye, Common find, Calm in mind. Triage, lies, Between fires, Flickering light. Sometimes a horse dives, Often times, In your eyes, The horse survives, In my mind, one more time.
“Don’t let me down”, now that’s a foolish way of thinking Response of confirmation, actions not in agreement Not very much Redeeming Like Pandora’s box you’re seeming Like bullets to the chest, I’m barely breathing Confused and in distress, was I deceived? and Was I deceiving? Were you mistaken by my distance and a lack of trust was formed Or was my token of your trust misplaced in your corrupted life form? Are you a demon? But you weren’t demeaning. You boost me up, Above the ceiling was my love Like, not love, allow me to clarify Was different, real connection But anything more than that I inform you, I deny And now I cry Mine, your were not but all of you was with me Or maybe me with you, that’s where I get confused Mistaken thinking Time, as more comes, you will fade At least that what my research say But I swear to god, my image of you gets imprinted on me more and more as I survive the day Leave me alone I don’t want you here to stay Memories in my bone Fractured when I lay Fractured when I wake Fractured me in my waist Oh what a waste A waste of my fight when all I care to take is flight All I care is me and you changed that habit Is that what lies are like? Is the purpose damage? If so you succeed because I’m more than done I’ve lost my sun Although it’s reflection on the moon is a pretty replica You set me up Trojan horse You lift me up And when things got good you sat me down Let me frown Although I hide, that feelings sound That feelings loud Those thoughts clear These eyes hold tears Those drops aren’t mild Neither were my fears So clear Ill steer for now Others won’t be allowed My voice won’t speak aloud Not truth nor words of deep Only traps for the weak, ones I couldn’t put out They were from your slope Your dope became my cloud I guess it’s, both, hello and goodbye for now. If only I knew before, how much you’d let me down.
For Mayor, for payment, For wages, forced labour, For most run four bases, For patience, no basis. Road changes like young brains, Record-breakers, the role favours; Horses race toward old age, and the coast as it fades; Full weight behind the sail, Like regulation of the state, Your neighbour, Your patron, Afford bravery for faith, While some live, agate, Judge races from inside of a cage.
Bindle stiff of simple things, Fake brickwork buildings, Frugal beginning. Mind filled with bitterness, Still feeling ideas stone: Life constatant, slowly. Hands in gauze and clovers, One makes a river of oceans, A farm of forests, dogs of horses. Yet smashes up against the stone, Dark and lonely, eyes gloss over.
Does one write music, Tunes or conclusions, When tongued foolish? Could God write a poem, So deep and wholesome he could not read, Without tears in tandem? Feet so sore-stung, Like a horse in the open, he would forever run, Chasing free of freedom, At best, to never love.
Like a hurt cardinal, bandaged, Perhaps again it flies perverse, Perhaps times himself per verse, Per second, per lurch, per word; Managing his time it finds a perch, Challenging himself, flies the world; Flies and bugs no more, Pecking the spine it eats a horse, Like a fuhrer pardoned, seminal, Perhaps one finds it not so curt, Curtsies, words lies, Lord survives. "I would make gentle return, Messiah of none, I arrive, Time to waste no more." It hears but fury, speaks short, "Perhaps past such things were worse, Such meaning in verses, Supple leanings of wings of worry, Speckled and shiny this rock is yours"