I’m losing coherence inconsistently
in innovation.;
Such ecstacy: p
u
r
e
.
I have ink on my hands,
and paint on my pants.
But I soar through the heavenly
archives unbound.
clean but smelly
of peanut butter and jelly.
Ideas bent the road of time
Tic Tock clock chimes
again on time (Damn I lost the bet)
Around the smoky corner of dawn
hangs my hangover.
