Filed under: regurgitated leftovers
I’d much rather listen to the silence between confessions
Than listen to admissions
laced in half-truths.
Pay attention to subtle hues of dried stains and
Blue.
Delta/Jazz/
And all the standards
Sound better than mediocre attempts at Upper East Side
Living.
These scales,
Drenched in aerated wine, milk and handcrafted Bullshit,
Sit upon pillars carved with an ivory hand.
I’d rather listen to sullen shades of midnight Blue
Than the same sorry Southern California proximities of
Luxury
(oceanic,
non specific pieces of “prolific Art”). F.you.
Give me
Simple lines of
Authenticity.
Exchange
Jaded hemlines and
Jeweled upbringings;
I’m no privileged
Living being
Just another person who believes that
Seeing
Is enough to tell the tale,
As along as you can see
The Details
Within every shade of
Daily
Sky
Blue.
We all sit underneath it.
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