I’m playing without sleeves

Rolled up and cringing
I’m playing without sleeves
You, you’re at nineteen
I think I know
I know what you mean
Rolled up and cringing
Clinging to the ceiling
I’m not flying so much as screaming
Rolled up and cringing
I’m playing without. Sleeves.

“Traveling, swallowing Dramamine.”


Stop the Deadly Machine!

Listing to the sides the punkj soil and slide breaking down the concrete barriers to reality existence and the ultimate dream,

swearing in legions they spit and kick up dust.  Now nothing can be seen

screaming and screaming I believe in the death of that- that machine 

and so the machine died when they commanded it too

the machine was of their soul and their blood 

it was nourished by their nightmares– so too its shattered by dreams 

death to the drunk, long live the punk, stop the deadly machine!Image

still riding

The spirits sleep together
In petit alcoves
Amongst the city steps
And gutter trails
Leading long
Like paint strokes
Down forsaken alleys
Where spirits dwell like lynx
Pained on cavern walls
Graffiti covered building
The spirits live and dance there
On the walls
Where for some holy wonder-
The art is still riding

It’s too damn hot

too damn hot

autumn in los angeles 

is too damn hot

I hate the way

I sweat through my costume 

under the orange sky 

Its too damn hot

autumn in los angeles 

is too damn hot 

I hate the way 

Sweat drips from my face 

while im carving turkey 

and flipping burgers

I hate the way I cant make love without drenching my bed

I hate the way I come out of the shower 

and sweat instead 

its too damn hot 

autumn in los angeles 

is too damn hot.   

Far from everything

The world is a seashell thrown upside down
Jilted spinning taillight bright
Spinning open shinning things
Mixed about on a sea
Calm and dreading
Dreading dreading dreading
Dreading the final come down
Of open sand
Calm dark sea floor
Oceans bottom
Final rest
Far from light
Far from everything

We are silent

We’re sort of silent

We sit at daybreak and watch the breeze blow

We take our time

Talking easy

Time is not after us

We are sort of pandered to

Time is the vessel by which we speak

The thoughts and memories that come between
Are eternal

And so are we