Plans have gone and changed, I'm
off and away regardless, couldn't
care more about this vagabond desire, I'll
burn the laughter down and run right out
of town, not stopping ahead for a yellow like
an eight-sided rule anymore, you've lifted
the unknowing latch and I'm out, I'm
out out
out.

Have I woken to find
myself surrounded by
such stars?

I am a styrofoam cup with the
bottom gently cut out, but
                                              maybe if I pour in
                                            fast enough, I can still be
                                                              ­                  full
          
                             for a little bit

Somewhere between the pillow and
the motivation of a Sunday brunch lies
relative stillness and steady
progression of time like a
lightbulb, growing
brighter each second

This is a
waste of time, all my
thoughtful pretending

and I seldom allow
myself to recognize who
I want to be, surrounded by
strings, a silently persisting
taboo future

What came first, me or
the harmony words?

sometimes I wonder

You're my picardy
third, the major apex in
this slice of life

the one that brings the audience to
its feet like so many jacks from their
boxes with the pop-out love you
shine all the time