old school, new school

The tongue is the final testing point, Of all that is alive, of all that can be tried And then cross filtered with the caress of the mood shadow, My time in the back slide, Jupiter poison zendo, Charge me up again with your spray can, To please the sand in my veins, Her story is written on me somewhere, Close to my lips, All night with the photographs, The final resting point, Of all that was once known, Bless me again in the illuminated playhouse, At the edge of town, And I for her and her for me, I can’t wait for the atmosphere to fall on us again, The veil now covered in blood, And we come through the cheap plastic mirrors and windows, The silence of whatever we could make up between us, The darkness and the elusive mixed together, And do they complain? And what will we say? Anyway, it’s the same time for me, All my tiny lives like little bugs in the super strings, Secret societies, little hives scratching on my bones, All on a Saturday, In the setting sun, And seeping sand, Slide on the beautiful sleeves, Just some tiny boundaries I used to believe in, Jam along trade fish, Thick wish with a twist, Quieter and quieter, Into a vapour dream, Night on the expanding highway, Is it Bombay or San Francisco? Send it here with the burning season, To each breath along the highway, In seasons and in beliefs, I signify my epitaph for all, A butterfly beach, Forever beginning again, Without a sound, without a trace, My high test dedications, Pinstriped epiphany, Always changing colors, Always a challenge to see, In each breath, Birthed in the shape of a heart,