time, out of mind

Skull and muscle Searching eye Operate these bones Live in the godly force of spin Walk, to a purpose All held together by might Night is certain Bright day is not granted One watches the great story.


Whistler’s Brother

  Do you even realize you’re doing it? some say. I say wut? The whistling!  The whistling! They are peeved. Somewhere else, I hear I love it! I say pardon? and get red. I’ll whistle your language whatever it be to pipe you up closer or farther from me.



Lord of somethings, How does one who fixes us find a way in? Past facades, careful constructs, ego and id, scar tissue and regret, to bind an ungrown soul?