i been dry as pumice
for
six
good bad crazy sad happy mad
years
today
and im rattling
with the needles battling
to
knit
my
looseness together
but its all good my sunshines
that sound is a comfort blanket now
like the washing machine is
when its changing cycles
while
youre
napping
~
sometimes i think
i should have stuck it out
but then again
no
no i dont
it never helped all the other times
and
this
time
the knife edge was too thin
balancing on the folded steel
was dicing my adidas goodyears
all the way up to my brainpan
~
apparently
i
was
brave to change
so well done me
pat yourself on the back
the therapists said
and tho yeah ok some of it was me
but really there was no choice at all
the days hurt
and
the nights
well they were a video-nasty
forever trembling on pause
~
the
moon
still knows
i used to yell at him
used to tell
that yellow ten pence in the sky
to come down here
and say that to my face
between bars and the bottle shop
and i can still think
drinking away a nuclear overhang
in the wonderful wood of a wooden pubs wood
when the suns on the slide
is to know god
in a very special way
when
really
it
was
suicide in slices
processed white
and
toaster charred
drunk on the moon by garden sounds
from deviantart.com
