july 7th 2007
hope in the den, we stay here like static and rust,
my heart healing flesh so delightful,
we embrace the lighthearted
who make their way through our lives with sympathy
hoisting panic and vomit high above kites and clouds
unlike birds, they will wilt and fall
ashes ashes. static and rust.
lovingly stepping upon air,
cracking the pavement.
searing dreams, searing flesh on your tongue,
you can't take back those holes you dug,
digging out of the flat white dark.
it's been so sharp.
keeping with the traditions I defined as my mind.
(jotted down in the back of a book I found on the road titled "the beauty of kindness" in a dirty dark pub, wasted.)