quasi_sean

never lonesome alone & reads the battered poems to himself

how many tries before the finishing line becomes gray and tired lacking water you crawl just a few more steps...hoping to make a home near the side of the stream that matters only to you and where you might seem to be stretched out in a grove w/the bees above your head and whispering letters like old poems seem dead why bother the sounds of the vaseline poles when there's only 12 tears in those cigarette holes...

i lacked a certain quality to understand those days in all the time spent sleeping in overwhelming shades of your shadow weeping in the window and now i'm scared to smile but w/o you i am nothing but the dust covered final mile of a race that has no end in sight, try harder & falter whenever there is right or left to choose, no choice mattering anymore...oh none, it's all left up to the sun--setting quickly on a race that was never won...and only quitters left to lick their lips and marvel at the time but now i know there was no hope...even at that fucking line.

shying away...
a spot. there.
makes me wet,
for nothing.


i can only run so far w/these silly words. no, it doesn't appear obvious.