Oh God, Old Smoke

We've got all the
time
In the world
But not time
to let
this one
unfurl
Gotta get on to the
next thing
Gotta get on to the
next thing
Gotta be Everyone's
Everything
I make up stories for myself
That may or may not be true
That's why I write
in pencil
To rub one out


I'm not beautiful
Enough to be so
messed up
But open me up
Like a paper flower
And your eyes
will turn inside out
with wonder
Beauty
You can squeeze it
out of me
Squeeze it out of
me.
It's lips like sugar
slowed down
Spinning 45 at 33.
You moved so fast
you were always one day
In the Future
I move so slowly
I'm like one day
in the past
We sit in separate time tombs
Meditating on Anger 
Shove Me
Can't move without you
Banality
Brutality
Banality
Brutality
its lips
like sugar
slowed down
spinning
45
at
33