everyone's a trick pony, and i have lost my taste for sweets.
they memorize their poesy. they believe it will get them
noticed,
recognized, adored. it's no bother. waste the space in your
head- better than writing anyhow.
smokesweet and drowned in opinion. let the quiet fill the
noise as the curtains are drawn and the bath is filled and
the steam rises and reason out all the shit that ails you.
when it is time for bed there's nothing left to do but rest
your head and let the sands of time settle all of the bets.
some believe in the miracle of Xmas.
i believe in rain.
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