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Monday, July 13, 2015

I feel like Steve Kerr

severed heads on an island of doubts

a stern look of pouts

(most topical creams couldn't rub it out)

I think this means Im filled with mouths

endless bouts I wrestle with now

always open / always feeding

miracles in motion

& yet it feels like Im teething.

seething for another way of being

don't stop believing..."Journey" plays softly over the evening

"now what the fuck was I teaching"

a flash to fourth grade...the first time I learned how to be brave.


I mean it has to be here...some...where?

if not who would the religons save

how would we know that were laying waste to our tastes?

this city feels like a cave

mistakes made on maiden voyages of space


"I'll have my eggs over easy" ( I mean what the fuck does that even mean?)

back again to the screen...

moments wasted as finger tips clip their heels

Ill be home before I can even feel

until then I'll just cheel...its like each of these stories are reems.

why even play

when the opponent isnt setting screens

just another victory from the triangle offense

it seems.

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