loose sacramental wine. obvious.
shaken tea gardens undergone
shoeless liberties. true.
in your placid lagoon
a war ensues & throughout time
has infinite battles.
so go ahead and lose your pipe.
you speak highly of your telephone,
like it's your saving grace but, in fact,
only gives you lilly head-aches, ace.
take your phone to your roof-top and throw it away!
beleaguering nostalgic swine, distinctly whining
about new years old age.
take nine more steps and see what that spot feels
like before you throw boulders into tomorrow.
leave that tipsy gypsy drinking whiskey from jar alone
and find carnival hymns to howl and scream in your
oak tree dreams.
let not be but just let go.
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