Embalmed and Tired

Final departures flutter outward in down strums to an electric guitar.

Hard pressed, boiled, carefully compacted mummified anxiety screams for air.

Lives to picture esc, somber, on repeat always in the airports of our own minds.

Calm before the calm the storm always rolls it's ankle off the coast in an attempts to spare the 

deserving the attention they have expired longing for. 

These thin walls of separation, in the minute minutes we smoke, and laugh allowing the stress to ingrain the monks to their clothes. Souls cry out in unison, as the bars never close.

Crumbs from the afterlife dangle on kite strings like a mobile of the cosmic cribs that we shat in, rolling from one wave of sleep to another.

Red tape so tight that the air around your lips evaporates before your name is crossed out.

Coffee pours over, the news prints.

Comic relief chuckles.

New day, same grit.