I Don'T Know Where I'M Going With This One

Tides will lecture us, obtrusively, to our faces, & it's moments like these we unearth probity in outlooks and lookouts to crack the skulls of coconuts. some lives have small windows, & we, like hounds, look out & bayed full moons, through panes. & pain, bringing the high to where the last line is breathed and we are plumbed. & this takes fix after fix, to cultivate depravities, gifts & slumlords, spitting from penitentiaries the rats & their humans. I saw a few. This is the kind of stools we sit on when there is more than blood in our veins Sometimes guitars sing to us, but the lines ... are flat, shattered lives. In death, there's no dreaming, just dumb sleep