i write far away tales
in the here and now
balanced on machine moons
and measured in marathon melancholy
the sun holds more truth
than all our handcrafted hallucinations
and time continues to drift
as i ride the the knife’s edge
on a sleepy red horizon
speaking to unseen morning souls
with tongues of charcoal
from hidden foxholes
thirsty for lyrical intervention
i navigate loopholes
fishing for spirits on parole

conformity battles communication
as i strike these unforgiving keys
in a tone of innocuous segregation
and hell is
burning forever in submission
as this complacent disaster
consumes rapid creatures
running toward a brilliant end

i embrace indifferent fantasies
because emotion is never empty
it is quiet, and charged
waiting to be purged
and reborn in a storm
of complicated animation

casting misdirected spells and
rendering secrets in the wrong format
i remember the sea
and all those
distant points of light
captured and waiting
like a fish out of water
i’ve got no plans for the weekend
maybe just i need some
tough medicine or heavy flesh

slipping behind these stylish ceremonies
perhaps i’ll slowly sabotage
this obscene machine of delicate excess
and burn slow angels of random thought
till my green godess arrives