the (Grateful) dead.

screwing my way through the laughter and the pangs
the moments and the sane
rembrandting pathways endlessly and effortlessly
and no way to think outside of myself
and in and unto she wept.

floor(ed) in the middle of the concrete
looking back with the moment as the defeat

child erasing thoughts as if the crayon
wasn’t thick enough

I wake in the middle of the wake
he symbolizes
my outlet and my fate

choking on the fucking moment
how dare it come so soon
as if I had something else to say

look at her when she skirts the wit
and the jokes

showing the underlying blind
breaking into the wreckage
of the half-hearted and half-assed
beginning to end what I’ve come
to and have said
days and the moments
where all I could do is feel
the fire
and fret and
heed to a moment
where all she did is bled..
through bed sheets of her mind
her thoughts
and moments and past
and all that she has had
that was and was not blind(ed)

fevered reckless
of the thoughtless
and the books
of the grounded and the (Grateful)dead…

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