Like music on repeat.
Searching your innermost conscience, like that moment you got cold feet.
Choices that don’t sleep.
Transparent hand warmers.
Handling beat rhymers.
Saying hi to raccoons.
Major Briggs never fought in platoons.
Metal full-metal jacket pack it.
Q-connect rack it.
Dumpster divin’ moreover interstellar, part time story teller.
Past life was bbqin’ oysters Rockefeller, pulling lobster legs.
Where I belong is locked up in a book cellar.
Equipped with confections that won’t let out too much bread.
Homestead, home stick, homesick.
House on the hegemony alley of allies.
Allied lost the cargo on the other side of the horizon.
Corazon my shoe size was before I go.
Twas a penalty throw number four, weeping pillow.