A howl, a strum, you and I and naps in lantana.
Silver headstones in mans decline.
In the gait of the dandelions ween, making fists with her toes in tire-tracks of mud,
the clumps oil drunk and balding blades of emerald's fray.
She took baby steps,
eclipsed in the midst of a marvelous dream as one more somnambulist against the world.
She simpered heavens as if god himself had a vested interest in her existence and she could care less about it.
Her heart pumped jet fuel through brand new veins,
her extremities bucked like a doe's full of sex skewed by streams of television
In the gait of the dandelions ween, making fists with her toes in tire-tracks of mud,
the clumps oil drunk and balding blades of emerald's fray.
She took baby steps,
eclipsed in the midst of a marvelous dream as one more somnambulist against the world.
She simpered heavens as if god himself had a vested interest in her existence and she could care less about it.
Her heart pumped jet fuel through brand new veins,
her extremities bucked like a doe's full of sex skewed by streams of television
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