(new lyrics in the works for a slow burn song called Waltzing Projectionist, feeling brave enough to share) Amidst the meals of comfort lye swollen songs in me circus pointed, hung its macintosh coat and laid its languid feet Red, reduced and dusted never meant for sale half of me knows what you mean if the rest of you couldnt tell Slight illusion festering occupied a glance visceral as an opened fist of a semi closed command Im a waltzing projectionist great at slight of hand bad at sifting through the midst of our simple circumstance a bird flew into the glass while all our glasses broke in a toast and our toast was burnt down to a crisp while the black air clung to our toes oh, by now you should know i keep a portrait of my syndromes in the snow and when the birch frame freezes and snaps I know its time to go snake sheds off skin hollow symposium anchored book of shallow breadth fickle spine and sugared breath there are cowards in our midsts at the wall of the waltzing projectionists there are no images to keep all is sold or yet expired ask the sill, it knows of sleep wield honey in grease found fast by pink elbows bow at the hip for this milk of the sold sell razors by the glass let the copse grow come celebrate a codex let your synapses know oh, by now I should float so that the crisp air can spring through the soul so birds can break glass as we toast so our eyes can see clearly when closed
Posted on: Tue, 02 Sep 2014 06:14:26 +0000
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