Hot Cross The Eye Is A Tricky Machine
And so I stopped for a minute.
I stopped and stood still and let time pass or run out a
lot sooner than I can or I will.
And I could give a f..ck about voices or pictures or what
we’ve known or what we’ve said cause it’s all wrapped up
in star or stripes or left to awful dreams inside my
head.
I’m failing to understand what I’ve never looked for over
a shoulder, all the while overstepping the obvious,
falling short or shame.
Putting my hand over my heart, but forgetting its name.
My finger’s on the pulse… and though this pen writes we
still live in a world waiting to be written.