harvest hands fooling a hardened heart

adulting at 9:45pm
it’s just one more
pointless preparation
towards another ordinary day
i’m already over tomorrow
gimme cat eye dreams
roaming with no purpose
except for the beautiful thrill
of some

we are empty souls
with full bellies
just scribes in the desert
held under careful discretion
searching for the mysteries of
love and death
under a ferocious and antiquated moon
running within the rule of runes
split by two
how do we cure
this cognitive pollution?
perhaps, with an abstract solution
of tin can realities

streaming through conductive,
and semi-productive
we are
waiting on
time clock signs
and yellow flower vibes
as backward pages sing
unknown songs of
rapacious relief

touch the earth and divide the sky
the spy is high
as we try to declassify
secrets of the sacred firefly

one, two

the cigarette continues to burn
and the pen struggles to scrawl
as inanimate objects brawl
with words and visions,
obscure divisions
of lines
dying on dehydrated vines
just one more
incomplete destiny
strung up or strung out
with neon butterflies
resting on the integrity
of park bench dreams

should we submit
to these hollow regimes
or should we run wild
into the poetry
and poverty
of elven extremes?

the rules of the sun
are penned just for fun
and the diameter of one
is equaled to
twisted tales spun
as midnight ropes
suspend our dreams and hopes

embrace the ministry
of unholy chemistry
how simple it is
to be the tree
lost in a satanic symmetry
of dissident idolatry

i heard the shaman say
on a poetic tuesday
how we should gather and pray
to the green goddess
before we play

too many memories sold
as this humble hermit
spends beer filled nights
cracking the code
of another unscripted download



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