holding back the hoards of train wreck images throbbing through my synapses swerving to avoid truthful touches while trying to stay on track

words in patterns switched around

happy birthday

blow out your years, wash your hands, and keep bending love lust life language to meet the needs of friends who bare their souls searching for common goals during southern winters spent muscling shoals to the shore.

no magic needed

we created more and fed one another.

let the caboose fly off the track while we dead-aim attack with box cars clashing and engine thrashing every destructive picture gets ripped in two flying in pieces left in grey smog hue.

we can’t look back

we must look within

steady our speed

as we begin again.