There’s a picture of my fourteen year-old self,
Staring back at my 28 year-old self,
And

A pattern seeking hominid

my mind does seek some greater plan,

some great and noble path

You have heard me singing
through the microphones of stars.

So high and silvery – piccolo

I don't think I get it
I don't think I'll get it
I don't think I have
What it takes
To shake my

There sits she upon her table round,
Strong and resolute without a sound,
Beckon’d am I, while her

Where the red bud grows, underneath the uppertoe... In the Hindu mountains where all of the stoners

O great swimmer
in time
I resist and you
drag me
behind you.
I follow
and you

Is this my sacred fleeting fate?
To walk upon the earth,
As but a mayfly 
Cold and cursed 
With

Eyes are cursed by fire
Sobbing tears of worst desire
Lonely or sleepy...Is this love?
Lungs are