Index

It's just conversation When we speak in a world of names Keep to the diamond line There's beauty in not happening Blowing on stone hands, under the arcades The luckiest choice was surrendering Coincidence of place

So leave it unspoken, as an angel Would be meeting each of our own shapes In the gold room, if everybody gets what they want

Our bodies have passed the time No need to imagine hell For lust does not satisfy, My Piledriver Heart unfilled Our knowledge of unity Shared through a half-subtle smirk We're nuclear as a family With outstretched arms I learn

To leave it unspoken, as an angel Would be meeting each of our own shapes In the gold room, if everybody gets what they want So leave it unspoken, as an angel Would be meeting each of our own shapes In the gold room, if everybody gets what they want

Opening right at the throat When I fall asleep brimming at the edge of the bed Breath turns into Love in dormant hibernation

I walk through the snow just to take the B38 Home as a new descriptor for mom and dad And the complex that reeks with dead animal

Stench distracts me from knives I'm supposed to sell At least I can call Miss W Jones Miss W Jones

Just an illusion taking coincidental forms repeating the comedy eleven Again it's a long wet month

Yet a greater loneliness exists in shadows of platonic Journeys imprisoned by unlivable present, in seconds of kissing the climax I'm slow to forget in half my unconsciousness

At least I can call Miss W Jones Miss W Jones

No bombs were made to miss every half season I’ll get a trim If you won’t cut my hair The way you want it Long like a stranger breaking the air When my knees reached the concrete I tore up my tongue

Stitching my eyes into the doorways of your mind I paint a machine With a habit of no’s To letting the heart vapor rise

I want it to rise I want it to rise I want it to rise

20 minute morning Cementing the elephant leaving the room unwashed because the News Needs a little more blood to drain Before tar and feathers project an old face through a language so alien to nights that we’ve spent

Extracting the salt from each other’s eyelids, saying goodbye As somebody’s son, somebody’s daughter letting the heart vapor rise

I want it to rise I want it to rise I want it to rise I want it to rise

Waiting for the draft to turn to a giver of being A vertical coffin to carry

The time that's blowing me through Deflated surroundings Putting appearance underneath the skin

Breaking at the corners The room acting as my witness To manipulated order I'm wishing his face was never a picture of return

Wrapped up in a language of feeling You can't be a judge, wearing a face on the back of Your head, it's half mutilated elusive content a chain of steel over a chain of brass

Free to pursue Free if you bend your knees to shame you can't resign To drink my blood, you drank it all up and held admission behind your eyes Your eyes

Breaking at the corner The room acting as my witness To manipulated order I'm wishing his face was never a picture of return Never a picture of return

Uh oh Apeiron You're pushing your luck Still burning flame's not enough In the abstinence we cremated to outrun our living on

In names, our places, on the front steps of a morgue Getting caught kissing, as a deer and as a poor boy, I was not yet who I deploy

Birds have passage Fly to south to rest by the water Repeating colors as fate At night

Whisper baby to oneself Finish the blood off his ears And clean out that loud metal mouth So our death can last reappear

Speaking through other fates ajar A Ghost is so cold out of doors Descended from both cats and dogs It takes seventeen ships to reach the Fall Of becoming

Cursed by a memory game Lose to echoes, one thousand eyes look for change Birds have passage Fly to the south to rest by the water

Repeating colors of fate I don't believe in Fantasy Football