Thursday, April 24, 2014

Flying the Good Time

Thunder crashes for miles outside w/the rest of the world shaking the ground to her uncertain roots and I’m on my sofa lost in sober thought; sitting warm having an early smoke with my morning tea and they both give me the tranquility and the moment I need. I’m a worshipping herbalist thru ‘n thru.
Playing w/the crafty witch overnight, her scents, and her magical spells. Love to my goddess divine, hopeless romantic in her dance ~ her rhymes and my waking 3rd eye.

Sliding in and out of this lifestyle but only when I’m penning it down like a madman w/a weapon carving up a willing page with my heart on. Come around to the live mosaic of thoughts screaming to her city a breath of sin. Come around to the fractals and the music, maybe the lounge muzak too.
Living with the curious faces pushing out through my crowded tv screen with a snow storm influence. Faces holding each other back while reaching for the common aqualung. Electro-sharp from the abandoned plug and one of them changed the channel on me.


Brief sanctuary is never sufficient no matter what they tell you. It disappears as quickly as your candid youth.

Sittin’ here enjoying the free shift on my knob and the wicked tiptoes that dance ninja style across the phone wire shaking raindrops loose for the next barrage of sinful hopes.
Flying the good time as always and doing the other in a clandestine manner with the gamey smell of the condor making its way out like a poison to a frantic schnoz.

Grand egress is the American way.

Victor Millan