Drift

Soul slips
Slow decay
Drifting away
A time to work without play
Strangle grip.
A tired resolve
Riddle unsolved
Whether it is nobler to stay.
Broken and soft spoken
In a foreign place
Never fitting
Unfit and failing fast.
These dead trees
Coped into corners
Nailed and glued.
Driving endlessly on edge
Divided constantly
Between fists of glory
And a waining heart
A lack luster pump
A hunch hitting hurdles
Girdled, grilled and drifting.

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Strokes for different folks.

Quick little reference,
Pour through soul tapping strokes.
stadium sounds, of hand claps or chatter.
Matter of mostest, of most.
The form of it's function.
Down, doe, down.
Duck down.
Grow,
Be well and lively,
Colour's smear like rudy red lipstick.
Small talk, at a bar..
Or the lingering smell of the last cigarette in the powder room.
Are we constantly recycling precious moments?
Yes

Sorting through the blank faces
Trying to find the page
That will tell me
Everything is going to be okay.
Stray dog
Strewing my drooping face
Across the city
Thoughtlessly lost
In desolute thoughts
Stopping for street preachers
Praising the goddess divine.
My feet are sore and my spirit broken
Tired of no
Tired of being.
Run and hide, no,
I must keep keeping on
For the lady who loves me,
I must be strong.