** **

Tight social circles smoking paper cranes 

Their tactile hair do-s can't stand the rain

Narrow fingers clad in turquoise rings

Coax and prod the synthetic bird 

Till it sings

Wispy smoke exits in a leisurely fashion

It’s lush but dreary

Their lungs beg the query

Is there joy in our stale tongues and cupped hands

Given the chance

Would we fight the man

** **

Most things are going pretty bad

And I just sit around folding paper and making tea

Trying to see

If the edges line up

Most things are going pretty bad

you lay very still on your

Kitchen floor 

Talking about how 

You wish it all 

meant more

** **

Smoky minds and dimmed lights can be

examined

But not quantified without loosing 

The subtleness that comes with two bodies meeting in the night 

tired of hanging out in parking lots 

Trying to quiet all of my thoughts 

** **

Cover my legs in paper mache

Braid my hair into rose bushes  

Oh busy mind 

Heed time

Left behind

As ephemeral and yet expanding 

Give me whatever i’m demanding