X on the left hand

We're running on fumes, locks mean nothing and the company glows. It's jiving to a whole new beat and there is so much at the meeting place. I guess we're running and it's going to have to happen. Aches and pain in the post-summer rain. Glancing at the gingers in a domesticated dream, it's friendly and charming- I dig the brain. All encompassing nonsense and mutual dissociative relations. Nowhere grounded, but nothing in shame. Bearing it all, preparing for something of good fortune. Jumping at it's finest.

Palm for beer, a full circle act with continues ramifications. Open to all, we're testing the waters. Dosing the police and running from ramifications, all just jolly and in control. Of nothing. Junky, baby- we're in the falling apart. It's old and relaxed, a comfort-level too much in imagination. Procreation blocked by the skateboard. All night, it's a dream place.