Here, strange.

What’s this hangin on me, like diesel mutant muck — ruining the waves of the sea, that are oh- so majestically wide and far out still away… Far out can it now be? And aren’t we saying that in all our writings states apart, there’s always a way out place- and a way out way- and wayyy, whoa, all the things that are lookin’ scary. “Scary good” ain’t that the phrase we’ve been sayin’, cause it’s October…

Oh October, right before the very good — the cosmic month for me when things go so right, —turn right— the cosmic falls, and the place with the log on the lake, and the dusty old crystals I need to replant… All the neglected things in my movements, our moves (they’re good), — and ah hell, a hurdle of deep dense forest too over there. Time for an autumn cleansing, time for a cleanse of a weekend, a walk in the woods —lock the doors while I’m out— inside after all… Or maybe I’ll go out. Maybe we should park and play. 

Maybe the town, and the streets with their seasonal noise — have got something more to tell… Listen like we listened all those years ago in the street that I know and that same damn story that lives inside, in the cobwebs of my missing top hat, in the rings upon my fingertips (though they’re newer), and the lines upon which I do still dance. 

Dance, ah… dance. Can’t we just. In a smoky. sweaty, heave all at once -together with strange sensuality of the nighttime, in the city near the center…of right there on the spot temptation. Tempt all over again that body of what you want — that forested place of where you go to believe and let go. Let go in the only way you can, loosing rules, with another soul. We’re souls rising high against the dawn that makes you smile and trap me up. 

What are these words I’m sayin’ now? That mess of mood board, don’t you see — it’s Thursday on the night where the clouds angrily slide past the moon fighting for the warmth grippin’ the air ill-timed cause it’s gonna change either way. Can’t fight it now it’s here. 

Sweet strange scary here. Slate. 

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