A range of extremes rushing through my heart
Billows and swells my emotions alive.
So I, all exposure; wind at my neck,
Look to the distance with dreamy eyes sans regret.
Moments that crawl deep in mud
Shaking mystery free from it’s longing and clutching grasp.
A sad song sung alone, echoing off towering cliffs.
A sweet song sung on a bellowing clarinet.
Could you lie to me just a little bit longer?
Rush to my head on a caffeinated high.
Your sprouts in my garden are light in my eyes,
And singing alone’s become quite obscene.
Tag: mud
Hardy MacPhalentire (day 697)
It’s every day
Same thing same thing
I grunt
I rummage
I snort
And spoil
I poke my nose
Into others business
I kick around
In the cold cold mud
I grunt
I rummage
I snort
And spoil
Hardy can be purchased here.
Ain’t Comin’ Baby Runnin’ (day 512)
You’ve got the look of a prowler with your leathers on so tight
Bounded by desire and your whistles blowing right tonight
I’ve locked myself into this room and I ain’t comin out
Run baby run, I ain’t the right breed for your sweet soul
Lavished in roses and smelling like the clean springs water
I’ve run through the wrong parts of town
I’ve held the wrong kind of jobs
I’ve pissed off the wrong kind of men
Now, I’m just a two-bit gangster
Rolling around in the mud on a cold winters day
Don’t rub my roots baby
Don’t come her rubbing my roots