The End Of Night

A mouth of dust as I exhale plugging in the drum machine

pushing on the southbound arrow to bring the tempo down

settling down comfortably low down is where I use to go

them ear buds blooming bloody pollen on the keys

dusty dusty and still into the dried out heart am I digging

no right or left ventricles just a bloody bouquet of roses

up from you can I next to you or at least from afar imagine

calling on my weaker angles to reign me back to where I belong