Author Information
Oxymorons
With my hands in my pockets, it's
tough to sympathize
Limbs can shiver this off, but
a mosh pit brain cannot
It's the sin in my eyes,
so full of shit that they are more
brown then green these days
Try the first, second, and third feel good mechanisms.
They lie guilty on the table.
A table of virtue... of greed.
Put your hands on the steering wheel and
chase away.
With fingers so deep in the reality of things,
I have to hide them in denim fabric
Inside I hold seashells and napkin thoughts
Things like...
"the bending tree is much prettier then the one that sings"
I get that.
And
"if our hearts werent stunted with oxymorons, then they
could grow forever"
You could read the lines on my face and see that sleep
has been an archeological dig
Ah, the search for history, wall-papered with answers
There is a border and a boundary that swallows it whole.
A complete digested universe at our palms, flying out every once and awhile when our mouths are too full of
the stints in our minds.
It's always been
about the timing.
