Strange birds roaming in grime
aligned to the ghosted tribes
sensualised in sensibility rites
transcribed to the ugly and pretty
in a petty embellished unheard world
of lathered tenders and searches
tamed and tanned, turned and timed
in invisible cracks of enstranged seams

Strange birds roaming in grime
on remnants of all there ever was
unloved in circus of undone pasts
transcribed to the ugly and pretty
evolved in an enlightenment trance
in hallways with all the little ghosts
Stroked and shocked, shamed and shunned
in invisible cracks of enstranged seams

Strange birds roaming in grime
on a heart where no love exists
lying tethered fields of the other side  
transcribed to the ugly and pretty
whilst perfectly creating a symphony
of all the beauty that lives and exists
wrapped and warped, wounded and wasted
in invisible cracks of enstranged seams

What a shame.
That we find ourselves.
In the here and now.
Instead of.
The there and then.

I did not hear
the owl call my name,
nor the hawk squawk
before it dive-bombed me
from the tree line, not
twice, but thrice this
white hot prairie day
yes, there are those who
will say, I came too close
to its nest, and with the rest
of species I must share this space,
but had my staff been swifter the
third time it dove, there
would be a grounded raptor
in the grove, this less than
lovely afternoon

Some of the stars don't shine anymore..
This empty place has no echo..
The clouds are not here..
And the sky is not the blue I remember..
The luster is gone..
The word magic is dead..

You all have grown up..
But I haven't..
Not truly..

I can see those stars that don't shine for you..
And I can hear my voice echo in this empty place..
The clouds are gone for you but have returned for me..
And the sky is the creator of all that is blue..
I am the luster..
And magic is real..

None of this has faded for me one bit..
In fact if anything, it is becoming more and more magical as I get older..
Don't let others tell you otherwise..
There is a beyond..
There is an after..
And there is a forever..

my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.

No, I don't want to smoke and I don't need a drink
Just tell me how you feel and what you think
Cause' I've been on my own for just a while
And there's not a lot of things I need to make this kid smile
Working on myself with all this time, making sure my minds right in the dead of night
And, I heard somewhere that talk is overrated and it's better to just vibe
Except, I swear it'll always be in my mind that love is underrated and it's not just for one night