The light drinks in the sofa, over broken pens and cluttered drawers Tiny exoskeletons drunk and halfway touching the afterlife Marrying fallen leaves with sexless odors of manic depressions in notes. Torn and thrashed abroad by demonic bats in New Jersey. I smoke in the indigo colors of the last room I was in. and think of transcendence. Thoughts mix with the senses of read sailor's who ate the salty cancer of freedom High from sleeping with smoke stacks and wild unfounded ideals. Now leather sofas floating in suicidal bathtubs. Throwing dirt in the ocean with buckets. I smoke in the indigo color of the last room i was in. and watch my scripts and manuscripts vanish. Performing to make believe and a woman's chocolate hands Drowning miracles now rolling with laughter in Louisiana Alligator mud. Mounds of soft brown smoke sewn together with the dark silk of laughing spiders Tormented by stars for beauty and distance I smoke in the indigo colors of the last room I was in. and think about dying.
Outside my window, pebble faced children climb long whimpering logs
Tangled in the charades of tampering with new evidences.
Spoiled milk spilled and covered by cadavers of yesterday
Snot wiped along the underbelly to hide bullied noses.
I smoke in the indigo colors of the last room I was in
and resist leaving for work.
Counting on two fingers how many lies it takes to solve love's mystery
Perchance to sin and steal and still be kept by floating orphanages
Friends and family forever sing the praises of the outdoors and strangers
Someone alone still, sitting and spitting lost chemicals into the nearby chimney
I smoke in the indigo colors of the last room I was in
and reject transcendence.
