archives

My bank and my paper have gone. I'm gonna try some vitamins. Im gonna try a little hope. Gonna go through the motions for everybody.
The poor take drugs like tiny vacations. Everyone needs some restorative leisure.
I'm still dreaming about some mystery, unknown permission.
i'm still here making a cobweb for the archives.

Beetle-rot Steeples

there are too many passwords
I just dont wanna do this any more
too many uphill battles
Chief Joseph of the home made rock and roll crowd
passions punished, desires thwarted
I got burnt arm hair smell like Icarus
one failed parachute-
and the jowls and stare of a working brute
i forget what I'm supposed to dream about
I look forward to pissing beer on the beetle-rot steeples
and needled floor of the sawtooth mountains
Stare at the campfire and do my best at the family's interrogation.
Better find my moment, better find a place to live in it.
But for now its time to go to work.
Better get the shit in my truck figured out.