partial lyrics on a sunday

poetry

the ghosts of rocks tap your window
your friends are all dust in the air
you feel like some low-budget horror movie
trashed on a god-given sunday

and i’ve not got any pain left
and i might die but that’s okay
and this old movie called “youth”
well it gets old in it’s own way

the monkeys turn tricks on the boulevard
the leaves flap around in the sunlight
well painkillers make me feel alright
i guess that’s how i lie to get by sometimes
i guess that’s how i lie to get by alright.

trained my thought (of)

poetry

the days have been less kind to me
lately
i find myself more prone to awkwardly timed
bowel movements
than i did when i was young
depends
i suppose. what did i eat? where?
was there lactose? spice?
the days i suppose it depends, was there spice?
i find myself more awkwardly prone
to lactose timing
lately
less kind to my bowel movements
days lately. lactose and spice
awkwardly kind
where i suppose i eat
prone to when i was young
it all depends