Pensive by Pianos Become the Teeth
The first man saw his scope. Making lists, he asked “will it look like this tomorrow?” Excuse you, behoove you to live a spiders life and “clean up nice.” Placate away, placate away and grow up tame. Tonight I saw what I’ll never be, old men walking and the reveries badgering me. My longevity lays in my feet, I’m counting Fridays on calendars. I’m seeing signs in my yellow teeth. I do my best thinking while driving but now I have to wear glasses and they’ve been doing roadwork for years. It’s funny how towns never lose their smells. It’s funny how now I scythe and scowl about missing this house. You can learn to live without anyone, you just can’t live with the re-runs. I’m ready to let my hair down, I’m ready to move to the woods until the floor boards get raspy, I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready. Sometimes I wish I could stop scratching at my wheals, scratching at the heels of my sneaks.