Ahh

Ahh, the stuff.
Not of dreams,
or broken seams,
not of life,
and your poor-boy strife.
I am tasting the blues,
and pale colored hues,
of still water,
broken ground,
and the unconcious rhythm lying beneath.

Gravel Road

stretched out on that gravel road for the thousandth time,
i ask you to remove my remains.
so itchy and sticky and the melting of the brain cells,
it's the dirt i tell you,
happens all the time.

My Own

Bleep me eternal,
into the finite wisdom of our un-fine mind.
Oblivious to your angel like facade,
oblivious to the devil in your 'awe'.
I don't want to understand,
I don't need to put my hand to your gut to feel your intestines moving
along the 'soon to become' shit.
I am standing still in time,
so still i can not breath,
so breathless i can not think,
and so thoughtless i become my OWN.

© April Fresh2001