"I'm Gonna Crawl"
I sit in the coffee shop where we agreed
rolling the brown diamonds of poorly ground
grounds over my tongue, tapping out the minutes
you make me wait. The wait is our little game.
A punishing borne to forge violent surrender.
You, off on another bender beat the pavement
peel rubber down to smoke, drive, drive.
They nibble on a lie, which feeds them the same
as would a truth. If a truth exists, it is slain, quickly.
I tire of the new order. You tire of the distance between
the lie of folded papers, iron sealed ink, Sunday's hall of mirrors.
It is almost too much for you to find me waiting.
You wanted a behaviorist, I am a humanist.
Still, I brought the first aid kit, you, the silk wrapped needle and thread.
2nd Draft
I sit in the house where we agreed
the coffee house on Wikinden
rolling misshapen brown diamonds
on my tongue, sifted remainders
the bottom tapping out the minutes
you make me wait. The wait is our little game.
A punishing borne to forge violent surrender.
You, off on another bender beat the pavement
peel rubber down to smoke, drive, drive.
They nibble on a lie, which feeds them the same
as would a truth. If a truth exists, it is slain, quickly.
I tire of the new order. You tire of the distance between
the lie of folded papers, iron sealed ink, Sunday's hall of mirrors.
It is almost too much for you to find me waiting.
You wanted a behaviorist, I am a humanist.
Still, I brought the first aid kit, you, the silk wrapped needle and thread.
I sit in the coffee shop where we agreed
rolling the brown diamonds of poorly ground
grounds over my tongue, tapping out the minutes
you make me wait. The wait is our little game.
A punishing borne to forge violent surrender.
You, off on another bender beat the pavement
peel rubber down to smoke, drive, drive.
They nibble on a lie, which feeds them the same
as would a truth. If a truth exists, it is slain, quickly.
I tire of the new order. You tire of the distance between
the lie of folded papers, iron sealed ink, Sunday's hall of mirrors.
It is almost too much for you to find me waiting.
You wanted a behaviorist, I am a humanist.
Still, I brought the first aid kit, you, the silk wrapped needle and thread.
2nd Draft
I sit in the house where we agreed
the coffee house on Wikinden
rolling misshapen brown diamonds
on my tongue, sifted remainders
the bottom tapping out the minutes
you make me wait. The wait is our little game.
A punishing borne to forge violent surrender.
You, off on another bender beat the pavement
peel rubber down to smoke, drive, drive.
They nibble on a lie, which feeds them the same
as would a truth. If a truth exists, it is slain, quickly.
I tire of the new order. You tire of the distance between
the lie of folded papers, iron sealed ink, Sunday's hall of mirrors.
It is almost too much for you to find me waiting.
You wanted a behaviorist, I am a humanist.
Still, I brought the first aid kit, you, the silk wrapped needle and thread.
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