Bord Dan

Commodify my lack of progress

It served me well

What have you forgotten this time?

Pink man

dust cycle

Follow my lead

2

1

I wish I could be a the solitary grainy figure shot, strolling head bowed toward the sea in a summer still. All that would be happening, and would ever happen, would be captured in that one bracket. No mirrors. No candles lit. No song. Just the gradual sog of Atlantic enveloping one's form.

A sad fuck Accompanied by sad songs With a gentle sense, That the pit of emotion will remain hard, And the early rivers that used to feed it Have too dried up.

Blossom. Blossom of fantastic pink beauty with searing hot red ribbons burning With warmth and technicolour love. I will watch collateral beauty and melt in the soon future.

Glass footsteps. . Concrete cuts like broken mirrors. With a seat at the bar Followed by light smooth intakes of breath, Thoughts are clouded so far. Words hung like portraits Faces scratched into broken text creates, Well, A life of twenty years Spent whistling at a world That blows back a gale. I’ve forgotten where the son is. Been like this for years. One sees an adorned emptiness inside. A temple, a place to pray where many have tried. Peeking through blinds with dry eyes, Forked bars scrawn late (And frank in the back) Unready for each day. Trapped feotal under covers of warm, familiar stone. Still, yet home.