the instruments of battle barely fit into our hands

the war of disease 

 

you tie the imperfect knot just to watch it come undone 

 

and the wounds of the broken, unseam

 

talk to me on rhythm

dance me into your rhyme

I can't say I've learned a little

while I'm sitting on your dime

 

contagion at every corner

 

we gamble a cleanly lot

 

you stick them with a dirty sword

 

chance is all they've got

 

I can count 

but I didn't count on the blood of their convictions 

the weight of the world 

the weight of the scale 

the way to bargain friction 

only to choose to give a man his heaven or to give him his hell

broken dreams on rural nights

broken dreams on rural nights

laying bareback  

fleece blanket filtered grass

dew laden body 

I'm composed of pure intentions 

clashing with the heated let down that precedes every dawn

only in song can I mention

waining gibbous before me

twig in my spine

city in my sights

you and me on rural night

 

sitting up, off to a real bed before she truly rises

but she's seen through me in the absence of light

green leaf volatiles fill the air 

and I wonder how my distress smells 

then pause to remember

one last moment to take this night in, 

before consequence crashes in

 

I speak half empty justifications in the absence of words 

pleading to the stars, and all that reflects their light

my eyes speak volumes in the red hazed liquor light

though I cannot blame me on them 

I breathe better when it's your air that I breathe