The Under Checked Vices
i wash away the harmony
caught up in your grip
thirsty for a century
Freud told me id slip
house of empty bottles
mirrors obsolete
peers often meet
while Jekyll starts to sleep
cant bare to train my iris
a different strain of virus
a closer threat than isis
the under checked vices
hear me
im coming from a low point
tried to smoke an old joint
woke up saying oh boy
barefoot like tolstoy
recounting the many facets
opened up the faucet
morning time hospice
my body just an object
time lost thrown away
demon as a stowaway
nothing left for me to say
do i want a motorcade
bucked but i get back on
which way am i riding
sunsets only an hour
somewhere it has its rising
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