It is not too late, we have mercy in cold storage,
in black galleons off shore, under a thousand waves
to dispense a magic that is simple as a basic chord.
Forget everything you know about power, about light
about tomorrow. wander with your eyes closed
hand map every contour of the closest body.
This is your neighbor, your stranger, your whore
sit in a congress of two and lay out your monies.
Some won't think it a valid transaction, it's only one
or 3.3 billion smaller more murderous factions
I'm a simple soul, and it's worth less than it ever was
sold on the open market. We fall away one by one.
Science, never once did it keep me warm,
now it's the only thing that does, when cold
when every shoulder is sloped, turned black
as crow and harsh as the caw from a winter tree.
I would hate every wake and every dream
to be that alone, to know it like a liver or spleen
knows only what it does and nothing more
though integral to the whole, we still don't get it..
I am over here collecting dents, tiny speakers in my ears
music I borrow from strangers, my rose hued lenses
work as well as they are meant to. The sun
will take a thousand million years to make its point.
A shame, I love it's warmth, sit in bright pools of it
like a brittle, bent elder, forgetting what went wrong.