in the hot noon sun I blinked
a thousand singing colors gone
blended to a light brown haze
of bars, hard bodies and jobs
bringing to life new normals
toasts to nothing, little to say
I used to be my own color, before color went away
blue and burning and bright
cold and close, too hot to hold
I used to be my own color, before the death of color
before being young felt oh so old
Monday, June 13, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
oh home
crack and creak of an old house
dirty at the edges
sweet ghost of cheap ground coffee
drifting, presspot, trashcan, closets
the air feels older than I do
lingering, misty, soothing, calm
dust singing on the hardwood
I am home, oh I am home
dirty at the edges
sweet ghost of cheap ground coffee
drifting, presspot, trashcan, closets
the air feels older than I do
lingering, misty, soothing, calm
dust singing on the hardwood
I am home, oh I am home
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