Shot down
Shot up
With a math
I cannot parse.
Shot down
Shot up
Shooting myself with
Hollow points
Watching the spray
With hollowed eyes
And words
I cannot say.
You know the names
That burn my lips
And still too stilled
I cannot pray.
Sky giants in my skull
Pulled from pages
I cannot review
Because they'll take the bones of my skull
to places from I cannot return.
Where it, wear it, wuz it son?
Come back to me, come back to see
what you dig up from the source.
What is all of us, but suggestion from the core?
Com bat with black on the edge of a wayward soul?
Way-ward sombitch
along the way
to the red that makes a course?
D chord. Under the sun.
Clouds like breath in Winter. Too much
makeup on you, on me. Too much tall grass
for September.
Turn us down.
Save definitely for the Fall. Right now is
ugly Summer, underdressed and over Seussed.
