Grab basket full of the cure

turn a back, make it sure

I look into our eyes again

something is happening somewhere

romantic cigarette rolled zen

bandana rolled loose over a lying mouth

options spilling a rope noose south

sacred swamp burps a name

ambiguous as a dank shower

literally dank, a resinous flower

blooming words, spilling lips

hollow winds stealing ships

momentum burning under feet of clips

descriptive mockery showing it’s hand

no talking in class, glass blowing with the sand

empty journal pages capture the beauty almost perfectly 

sweaty timepiece hangs the noose around the next neck

waiting in line for a release previously unknown to ocular jockeys

temporal share reveals an unyielding baldness, almost extinct from carnal visitation

sweat is the oil that burns in the inner furnace

fire fractal friction

alchemical puzzle pieces spill on the shade of fungus nights

the spirit is always behind us

never there when we turn around

showing us not to look for it

because looking is a question mark (?)

doing is a straight line, let if fit inside the circle.