wire impasto

everythere is music cuz practice is perfection
so it's a thing, you do it. the secret path to my bedroom
takes a bit longer than opening the door
to spit jelly beans in.

not waiting to be perfect
yellows and parchments pile on my virtual floor.
you talk about real things
and i just want to play dress up.

there's the busy signal of love
taking a nap, but we each have a candle
we'd like to burn. yesterday"s
like tofu only less
spicey.


worn cotton, railroad tracks on mars,
civility the watchword for lovers past
and prestested. i'm just trying to add some texture
to the thing that's goin on inside this frame.