The Perfect Guide To Rattled Swords

Distract no differences regarding indolence of seated sins.
Beget no patient sky’s inception on a whirlwind.
The mountains call to me
and I’ve not seen them in some years, you see.
I’m just a passing gaze upon a side street.
No shivering deception casts a net.

A package was delivered but it didn’t arrive.
Just like Indiana Jones with his Holy Grail eyes.
My separate need to sink into the grass blades
is like Nora Jones singing about the blues greats.

Pleasure is a pattern twisted.
Pain is something more.
It is the perfect guide to rattled swords.
It is a back porch.
It is a nice space.
It is cold drink.
It is a familiar face.

Pain is just pleasure flipped.
I feel them both each day
and moreso when the weeks stretch out
then slip away.
I’m happy now
but freaked the fuck out–
just not enough to scream from the fire escape.
Not enough to hear some voices swayed.
Not enough to stare down strangers
until I’m sure they’ll go the fuck away.

My pills wrap me up and warm me.
My pills wrap me up and warm me.
My pills wrap me up and warm me.

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