sometimes

we live in midnight institutions

complete with limited resurrections,

searching for bedtime heroes and

untraveled imperfections

among lost and forgotten

erections;

they never knew

just how deep the cut

really was,

they never knew

what was taken

on that day so long ago;

how could they?

early morning memories

fill these empty corridors with time,

reaching out for just one more

in this never ending reality,

taking hold of the mindless insurrections

thrust upon this bodiless soul

with decided impropriety,

so full of tight lipped incognito bullshit,

drowning in pools of molten

metal mania;

sometimes it must be this way,

sometimes this is all there is,

sometimes we all go down;

sometimes it’s all right.

.

.