Paul Orton Music

Twist the dark wings. Crack the bones: brittle. Dead for days anyways. Maybe new life Will be birthed in the stump.

At least chain the feathers, Add beads; A necklace.

I question my vanity often. I try my best To observe my ego In a neutral way.

It gets away from me. So I humble it.

I stopped wearing jewelry. Rings. Watches. To humble my ego.

When I dress nice, I look at my watch - sitting there on the dresser - Then I leave it behind, To make me mindful.

Does it work? Who knows. Maybe it just gives me Another reason to be pretentious.

Learn the social media. Use the social media.

Can one be relevant without photos of felines or re-re-re-posted punchlines.

I don't care for pictures of tits, I want to sit with you for a brief second and talk about a thought; an idea.

A naked back. A wall of flesh, Closes me off. Can’t get over it, So I rest my head against it; Between the blades Of the shoulders.

Soft skin stretches Over each voracious vertebrate, Like blankets of untouched snow That caress the rolling foothills, To the south.

Cool is the question. Comes up a lot lately. How are they so cool? Are we cool? Am I cool? Maybe we're nerdy cool. Does that trump cool cool?

I need another tattoo, That would make me cooler. Something deep. Deep is cool. Dark is cool.

I met a girl that was cool, And I asked her "How did you get so cool".

She responded, "Me? You're way cooler than I am".

So maybe we don't know we're cool, And that's what makes us cool.

Fuck it, I'm going to play dungeons and dragons, And listen to Enya, In my underwear.