allows me to grasp the handle of anonymity here, sobering and lengthening myself
no necessity for ashtrays in the easy chair of lonely leather officiation, it's working out well
and even better than I wanted to imagine, having wrapped my psychic knuckles
around glasses of aromatic beverages of all singular variety drunks
we were all there without souls except lisa maybe but born by a mother
whom also as all mothers flicks open the eyes in the morning
regarding the time to wash her hair in the kitchen
her eyes will be open and her pajamas will be green fluff, blue
i think she's watching me butter my sandwhich in the kitchen she holds in her heart
those big ideas have nothing to do and you wouldn't be awake for them if they weren't happening
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