Thursday, December 19, 2019



I want to cry for my lost dreams. 
That house made of stone and glass 
with all wood inside the fame 
and fortune I never gained, 
the way my heart has been maimed 
my life tamed and bought at the corner store. 
Dreams estranged 
caught up in the buzz of busy bees
 living day to day in a maze 
on a pension fund 
Money I earned not charity 
driving safe in the slow zone. 
No airs or golden chalices, 
standardized morphing of reality 
Leave me to blaze on a hot day 
Sweat with no underwear. 
I fear for the living dead. 
Live life in my head 
less than half my dreams 
never come to fruition
because I’m not Annie Malone, 
neither is he 
change your tone please, 
Don't use your phone 
while we're having this conversation. 
I want to be a milliner
Tired of infighting, 
heart a siren, beats with desire 
Set the sky on fire, bring souls out of mire, 
stir the fires of love
Ignore the jive of each haze, 
the latest craze
Always some new malaise 
Live like lost
In a moon phase
Do my best to stay alive and thrive

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