Kick the Tires
I am sorry warped mining
Of bled out pockets too dry.
So when
Opportunity turns to me
and I go
I say
so anyways
oh strap a camera to the trees.
better yet -to their visions.
Cinching, them disparages
them falling distortions
the imaginations and raging
inspirations; from which ones
got bent, gloomy in your wilderness.
Will ascend into there; rises
of the layered auras
and the feverish dyes
-with infrared focuses, now--
and whiplash what it is to be...
Into thee old resin and wintry exhausts will snap necks
Cuz you are only performing Reality.
Just all shaky and quivering with
expectations, these figurines,
Now glowing in the wedged ...surround...
Eyes just longing..
Near sight them in the
most perfect burst.
Cells well captured in a Flir lens...
yes! That's what am I talking about!
Night vision and
But through peep holes, long sights,
insanely mad within that,
Sniper vision, and like that
finish them.
Flex their lights, decapitate,
carve them like meat
off the flesh of history,
like the ones in the trees.
And picture yourself
In the shit -Right?!.
If this war reaches, another century
You're still sketching
journals with smeared sinuses
pressed against ear sneaks...
About these things, trying
to.... cry
Or make me..
the same kick the tires rip
taking off from pavement,
with those subliminal clicks
Bang!
I'm -jamming the brakes in stones, dirt...we found our roses.
But thank you for everything.