I wore around my neck the key to my home
The little one which I couldn’t keep on my own
Meditating the porcelain king on his throne
Adds another rattle to the family bones
Sleeping to the rhyme through a radio tone
Four days prone, sky, night
kitchen
The ghost the years fried, or pay
watt sink bay
Another hole old picking from the
Rolling out of a cloud smoke
reflects a the wheel
Hard paths, of dyes, gripes,
All it is all same, my shadow slick
with and can’t shake it my boots a
Brace myself for the but the is pathetic tame
**** the blame, up like a on the bottom
She wakes me with and water, moves like she’s floating through a minefield
is blowing her, crops songs from yield
the purrs, the masses with paper
tight to and pearls
Hurl another den, breaking
at it men, and again
Shame is hill shade
Guilt the smoke wrapped around
body don’t drown
tree the the axe cut
rotten on all four down
Shame is cashed shade on
silver cloak smoke wrapped
mind floats body don’t drown
tree on the
A rotten apple fell on four generations