Paint

[picture credit- Kevin Crouse]

Hank’s old man tin can played on the sounds of a looping similarity. Honey in the veins of nothing close to sleeping, chaos and inquiry- some times too curious. Moments of indecent silence and a want for company in the meek morning maybe dream. Flags bearing some prior historical significance are a fashion statement for posed tolerance. You dig it because it is politically incorrect, misjudged amplitude of reason. Treason in the breaking down, showing through opacity reaching maximum capacity. Deviation from the prose, receiving only what you asked for because it’s your time now- damp dawn with some fucked up song of old remorse. It’s an awareness for repetition; join the coalition, lost in some static voice. Here by choice, the shoreline isn’t a viable option. Wanting to share a craft, daft in the way you show broad interest. He’s here only to narrow some interest and be that man gravity favored. Orbiting something fierce, we’ll see how long it lasts.