You agree the dusk seems early though the sky hasn't even filled with dark. One by one your pleasures are tainted by a lingering stench of shit and piss. The world is always closing in on itself, the day always folding its hand. Slow and gray, and everything all the sudden full of the sort of problems only guitars could cure. Your eyes wide open, the sky just does what it does. The ease of these geared up absolutions, the wheels that turn on the flutter of one tongue. You could be anything you think if you stayed this low too long.
What of the blues that border blackness, what of the breath of these pines. The forest seen in a single tree clinging to the wonder of structures left unsaid. The blue becomes silty though the sky still seems free and bright. Growth and dissolution, the scales only ever weigh on the keys of the piano, the crow's call at once sounding like a sample buried clever in the mix. Each breath fills the bones, burns the blood of its latest offering, the river always changing worn skin tight. Tomorrow and tomorrow, the long slow spilling of each drab confession, the drizzled beauty of skillful tears. The reality beyond us makes us seem some fiction, belief always beating its brains out trying to lead us to the moon.
I watch the skies for its inevitable flocks and fleetings. I watch the sky as it surrenders its shine to the night. There are children shouting in the distance, reminders that I live too close to people. There is music playing saying much the same. The guttering of stalling engines, the vacant hearts of dogs barking their brains out, the fleeting feeding of nest bound humming birds sounding always like a gauntlet tossed to all comers. Life rushing past the distance, life filling in the gaps. The sad note of my location less than a pinpoint in all this rich proclamation. The bitter of my tongue just a turn from the sweetness of the song.