Two birds bounced in the bushes while singing.
Undo the reasons it will not stop stinging.
Pining at a moon after smoldering sky with lightning.
Lining Silver in the reflection of the cocoon tightening.
All this time building and refusing to splurge
Walls closing in, and it's impossible to emerge
Constantly rambling barely murmuring, the middle of the inside is not all it is cracked up to be. Cracks in the cement, cracks in mounted skulls. What it is to be true has changed. False bravado from antiquated notions disconnected my mind from a source. The map I should of had coming in, was clouded by guided misperceptions. Found that glowing effervescence again and begged to never lose that ringing inside, echos of universal love opening in my eye.
Corporeal memories wander empty mansions.
Seal the grinning fate of the future's phantoms.
Unbroken ground reserved for ambitious intentions.
Spoken truth is only a wish of oversold interventions.
Holes in the side of the ship are leaking water.
Rolls of stinging sweat in my eyes, it gets hotter.
Wandering as the black night consumes all light.
Squandering endless moments, which way looks right?
It goes and it stays away a while, sometimes. Thoughts grow dark despite the best intentions and most pure of routines. Take back the ocean inside the skull, don't lose a grip on believing in the work. Never lost faith in it, or, . . . never had a vision? A Cruel thing to say when you know it is not true, but equally cruel to wait with a begging open heart, arms shaking, exhausted from reaching. To see it and not bend completely to it's will leaves one still. Too pure carries you far outside the bounds of where you are now, too thin and I float away. Capture it in just the right way in quiet moments; and through mud and shit when you need to.
- Ed Tajchman
Undo the reasons it will not stop stinging.
Pining at a moon after smoldering sky with lightning.
Lining Silver in the reflection of the cocoon tightening.
All this time building and refusing to splurge
Walls closing in, and it's impossible to emerge
Constantly rambling barely murmuring, the middle of the inside is not all it is cracked up to be. Cracks in the cement, cracks in mounted skulls. What it is to be true has changed. False bravado from antiquated notions disconnected my mind from a source. The map I should of had coming in, was clouded by guided misperceptions. Found that glowing effervescence again and begged to never lose that ringing inside, echos of universal love opening in my eye.
Corporeal memories wander empty mansions.
Seal the grinning fate of the future's phantoms.
Unbroken ground reserved for ambitious intentions.
Spoken truth is only a wish of oversold interventions.
Holes in the side of the ship are leaking water.
Rolls of stinging sweat in my eyes, it gets hotter.
Wandering as the black night consumes all light.
Squandering endless moments, which way looks right?
It goes and it stays away a while, sometimes. Thoughts grow dark despite the best intentions and most pure of routines. Take back the ocean inside the skull, don't lose a grip on believing in the work. Never lost faith in it, or, . . . never had a vision? A Cruel thing to say when you know it is not true, but equally cruel to wait with a begging open heart, arms shaking, exhausted from reaching. To see it and not bend completely to it's will leaves one still. Too pure carries you far outside the bounds of where you are now, too thin and I float away. Capture it in just the right way in quiet moments; and through mud and shit when you need to.
- Ed Tajchman
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