Thursday, October 23, 2008


Hang myself on the hypotenuse of truth
Measure the length of a chord being played
And cut it so the silence cringes forward
Only to discover the Study of Everything will only lead you believing in the the Poetry of Everything

World's Spinning

Worlds hurdling toward the blood-curdaling scream taht seems to ring and chime the bells which hinge on teh edge to rhyme and cringe for an awfully worrisome spell.

Hot Air

Step into the sunlight and catch yourself starting at the stars that light your way through the night.
Cross over the threshold to see what sort of people you'll find on your quest to pursue the immutable.
You see others as leaves billowing in the wind
Inhaling and exhaling with the weather
Sipping on a little bit of water, you try to drown yourself in the hot air that surrounds.
But you escape unscathed.
The breeze picks up to take you away.
And she stands there picking her nose with a curious wry,
Forgetting that we are.
We breathe
Taken aback the narrator is befuddled again
Waiting on nature to find high tide so his tirade can begin
But the plants breathe too
And it's getting cold
The immutable becomes lost in its own decision to abstain
And I wonder how long I've been pondering this moment.
Only to find that it's at an end.

Dark Outside

Ninety cents as night descends
With the death of the sun
Lets the emotion set in.
This song crosses the street until the highway ends.


Grabbin' for grapes while I whimper
To the wind I find myself hoarse
coming to a second coming and I am spinning biserk
When I hear no song
It's the rustlying of the wings
I can find my way in
But where is the source in the dark
I see the loose dirt but feel heat singe.

Radio Dials

Fiddling with the dials on my radio with such grace that I begin to think that the beutiful music is actualy coming from her fingers strumming away.
I shift my hands on teh steering wheel so my shoulder turn a little to the left.
The hum of the road captures my attention
While silence floats freely captivating our focus to turn our heads.
The road is speaking to me more than she is.
And it's telling me to keep moving forward.
Stay within the lines.
Keep a level head.
Forget the other nine.
I waft over airs of indifference so she slides her eyes over the dash to the hands that used to drive her crazy.
Now they just sit idly waiting for something to happen.