Throttling, hurtling, just going, going. And hurting, going. But it's gone, it's going. And not knowing where, in the ground or in the air. A golden stare, whatever.
Someone said to me, "I'll come into your dream. And speak it to you." I already knew. I found her in an attic where, dramatically, she leaned in to me.
What gives this mess some grace. Unless it's kicks, man. Unless it's fiction. Unless it's sweat or it's songs. . What hits against this chest. Unless it's a sick man's hand.
What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man. Unless it's fictions, unless it's sweat or it's songs?. What hits against this chest unless it's a sick man's hand.
The heart wants to feel. The heart wants to hold.. The heart takes past. Subway, past Stop and Shop, past Beal's, and calls it "coming home.". The heart wants a trail away from "alone,".
All of the stage names evaporate. And it's just a blood-flushed and heart-rushing race. Either to kick off too soon or stick around too late. To be far too dear or too cut-rate.
Loosen the wire, your time has expired,. the only word left is "goodbye.". In my new dream the light's shining on me,. little needles of sodium unstitch the seams of the sky..
Watch the sun switching in the sky, off and on,. where our friend stands bleeding on the late summer lawn,. a slicked back bloody black gunshot to the head..
All the riders on the rise. Circlers from every side. All the riders on the rise. Circlers from every side. . Eyes up!. Light floods around. In a yellow shadow after night.
Maybe we could break your ankle clean and unsuspiciously. An ER trip, a doctor's slip and you could share your pills with me. Won't it feel so good though when we're lying.
All the latest toughs, you've got to shrug them off or shut them off.. With ten-thousand-time-told truths, you've still got to ask for proof.. Ask for proof, because if you're dying to be led they'll lead you up the hill in chains to their popular refrains.
Young, stay young. Stay strong, don't get on with it. Gone, way gone with it. It's all done with it. You're all done. . All my friends are running to live.
They ask for more. What do you think this fanclub is for?. I slithered up each rose corridor. I kept a warm safe place in my core. Before I lost it. .
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Remember when our so-called friend would not call out to you. while tumbling loosely out a hole punched through your home?. It's pretty clear, though you could hear, you truly finally knew,.
He cut your strings so that he could float - lit by lights, lifted by alcohol. over acres of loving coast, far away from your lonely ghost.. Now he's cool and all, floating anchorless. Ports of call:.
Your great-grandfather was a great lawyer. And his kid made a mint off the war. Your father shot stills and then directed films. That your mom did publicity for.
A black sheep boy revolves over canyons and waterfalls.. A black sheep boy dissolves in syringe or in shower stall.. . He says. "There's plenty of time to make you mine tonight,.