that So Cal
Fever writes better than I
Vertigo coloured a sick haze-like cola fog.
Vertical latitude so lateral it drains me storming thoughts that sweep.
Words spining, bouncing, trouncing.
Anouncing their arrival.
Peacock colors and falcon words
swooping down to kiill and meet in my ram's-nest-head.
Swirling day dims like a rock pile of
stacking, stalking LSD.
Head phones cracking, crackling, cooking up a
maelstrom-driven 3-way course.
Summer set, Fall up.
Just winter down your minds for her wild chills.
Cold fingers down my arched spine.
Hot tendrils in a probing frenzy.
Brain autospy while I breathe.
Ill so low, high so epic.
Facing things in the pawn. Screaming through the shroud.
Teachings based ills in sin-wrought writing.
'Cause Fever writes better than I.
Simpe. Keep it simple.
Else the rage return.
Tentative steps and baby coos.
Leafy greens and deep baby blues.
Just somethings to keep me sane.
Thick coat, thin wind.
Heavy beats and placid songs.
Propaganda in so many mellow words.
Theories in lyrics, gambits through melody.
But the heracy seeps through harmony.
One. Two. Negative's so doubled.
Positively alarming how all the colours switch.
A red light would help
Oh fun; drowse lulls better writing than I.