| When I fall from the dream-catcher's mitt
|
| I’m all thumbs
|
| And not what she’s after
|
| My smoldering remains burn over glowing embers
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| As you ready and position short-term goal tenders
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| I lay un-kissed at the summer jams
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| A bag of ruptured glands
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| Who lacks reasoning to understand
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| My self-directed hate fits
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| We mouth the vilest sacrament
|
| And adhere to these tacit skirmishes
|
| All for one day ideal and saffron-drenched
|
| We ate each other’s hearts out of serving dishes
|
| This soft science leaves my body underwhelmed
|
| Our ambitious union dissolves out of the color film
|
| And I am just a crude outline
|
| Obscured and pegged and numbered
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| Dangling off power lines
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| One of many discarded ex-lovers
|
| Throwing pet food from the red carpet
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| At de-colorized coupling of heart-shapes
|
| And all the panic-stricken flower maidens
|
| Update their 'who to hate' list
|
| My journal entries are irony-laden
|
| And tirelessly self-loathing
|
| We mouth the vilest sacrament
|
| And adhere to these tacit skirmishes
|
| All for one day ideal and saffron-drenched
|
| We ate each other’s hearts out of serving dishes
|
| (Falling from the dream-catcher's mitt
|
| Falling from the dream-catcher's mitt,…)
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| We’ve mouthed the vilest sacrament
|
| I fell from the dream-catchers mitt
|
| With smoking incantations and dead language motifs
|
| Their defected army becomes my rogue fleet
|
| Sequestering yahoo, superimposes his frail person |