from bed, shorty

i lit the fuse and stayed

i wanted to feel the bomb blast, more importantly the time pass as a hiss would grow to bang and leave my final performance something of a mess

grinding behind curtains

you knew i was back there

words that churn from their mouths syntactic seeds i sprinkled in one-on-one rooms

people don’t think about the farmer alone walking rows before their shower starts

bacon and eggs for lazy legs distant from delivery of what keeps them from death

chain links and locks, layers and series of clicks and clocks, clacks and clucks


nuances delivered developed by detailed rain falling on poor richard’s head as he stands alone in mud tides willing himself to walk to the shoals

studios where elvis was made without awkward hips but rhythm and dips doo dippy doo the wizard is suppose to stay in the shoe and don’t rub three times

i have no wishes

the plates delivered not thinking about dishes

i’ll live back here, behind the forest guiding as you zoom in-and-out

a final testament

the sound that stirs your snooze as i give a final refuse and wait…it’s the end of the fuse

i’m behind the curtain

you won’t have to watch

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