from bed, garbage

I tend to think in lyric and motion

people getting from here to there, mostly by foot and with every situation comes a song, something from the past, a connection, the sail climbing up the mast on SS humanity setting in motion cross ocean travels to be more descriptive with the vultures they swoop from nest and gobble our pray carrion rotting one more day or way and whose to say whether the temperature rising is what we need to sort out it’s more of this flashing feeling of guilt that we should doubt with missiles aimed and jock straps adjusted spit that shit and let’s hit business the swipe of a jaw is easier to unthaw in history rather than a conversation bleeding the typist and her mystery of who and where it was honest and fair i swear we counted to one,two, three before wiping those people to their destiny without a final plea or calling of Uncle sam how do you do it’s crossword puzzle antics confusing my soul you lost me with that final dice roll when sixes meant nothing and talents were spoiled so you could loom at reflections with a wink and nod the past is rich with stories to repeat pick the pitch to finally defeat the one who sits stationary never moving mary the Saturday paper gave us garbage to collect i’m neglecting a theme trompsing through shotty rhythm with no scheme it must be monday and i can’t see a way that this will be acceptable. i have to let it go the jumbled thoughts causing me to wonder about you

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