Monday, May 25, 2009

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.

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