Not Enchanted

Peace in the glass,

slammed like the gentlest of Vikings.

Smoke that suts the throat like a chimney,

just to write suicide letters to sell in a pinch.

Don’t make note of the status quo,

Wait—where’s my translator?!

Ah. Breathing, this new setting of self

creation.

Vetting the leaves in the wind, only the most

daring land in my yard.

Final call comes from the Buddha statue no one

made, both of us baked in a vacuum, conversations on

the dark side--that's an excellent point, Milky Joe.

Be damned this slow flow, damn right.

Booms and crashes every night. Fewer sirens,

let’s skip to the meth labs blowing up.

Dreams loom like butcher knives next to crisp

blue jumpsuit.

But since those don’t do it—I just can’t stop saying I

love her—hey!? Who let those Nightmares through the

barricade?

Someone, please, return to my home, here are

the keys, purge the Letter Box.

Yeah, it should be on fire, be nice to say I saw it.

Fancy’s a different kind of occupant, Creature

on the Vox route, I only see them on their way out.

Diamond in the desert dunes, one of a million

puzzle pieces, yet I shatter like glass,

can’t even touch where the concrete ceases.

Hostage Taker left a colorful note today.

Shit, not more red hair in my comb--

shit, she said we'd talk about plan Z between

the Tennessee Whorphanage and Calcutta. But

here we are.

Forget the roach fiesta, remember that grab and

smash felt right.

Turquoise in the teeth, you, James

Dean, not bad for a beginner’s course.

Only hiatus in the fucking hail storm--hey! Don’t

be rude, the mountains are waving.

Enchantment amongst the Fentanyl is wavering, a whole

night stroll deemed by locals as The Fool's Reckoning.

Yeah, it smells a bit like home.

Newly lost on the spectrum, never saw past the

orientation fellowships, and I know why the freshness paralyzes.

Now you can refer two lines above

for the reason that can dine on my rectum.

A walking inner sanctum of worlds colliding for

the trailer sting, future conversational wins...

Am I looking—what does it look like?

What’s it doing to my face???

He said along the walk

into oblivion with haste.