Poetry For Everyday People
Pacing Thinking Pacing Thinking
I scratch
my head, pacing,
stress is the caviar
of time,
I feel wild
in these bones,
this skin,
my soul
looking
out at the world
unable to escape,
my instincts
on full alert,
all the time,
not even sure
what it is
I'm still defending,
what hasn't been stolen,
what hasn't bleed
to an end
of some sorts,
and I guess
as long as
there's something
to defend,
something to
stand up for,
something to
alter the mood,
the soul keeps
hovering, soaking
in blood,
lifting towards
a place
within us,
that seems to know
much more about life
than we,
could be just
the little bar
in our heads,
our own
head, bartender,
saying:
it'll be alright man,
have another thought,
on the house.
my head, pacing,
stress is the caviar
of time,
I feel wild
in these bones,
this skin,
my soul
looking
out at the world
unable to escape,
my instincts
on full alert,
all the time,
not even sure
what it is
I'm still defending,
what hasn't been stolen,
what hasn't bleed
to an end
of some sorts,
and I guess
as long as
there's something
to defend,
something to
stand up for,
something to
alter the mood,
the soul keeps
hovering, soaking
in blood,
lifting towards
a place
within us,
that seems to know
much more about life
than we,
could be just
the little bar
in our heads,
our own
head, bartender,
saying:
it'll be alright man,
have another thought,
on the house.
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Pacing Thinking Pacing Thinking
Pacing Thinking Pacing Thinking
