the only thing earlier than my alarm clock was your peak

What do you think
I sleep in?
Stay up late twiddling my thumbs
And watch televison?
Blow off the afternoon to sit
Sipping bourbon with my friends
And then spit sob-story bordering
Abstractonist poetry
in my offtime?

It’s a race:
There is time
And there is us
And time is going to win,
But till then I’m giving
That bastard a run for his money
(which time is)

so I hope you’ll start to second guess
your other-side demeanor.
pick your pace,
pick up a watering can
and sport its function ‘til
your grass is greener.

Spend your Saturday morning
Learning what it takes
To make your dreams
A little closer.

There is no secret hand-shake,
There is no shortcut,
There is starting out
And sitting down
And there’s also knowing
When to give up.

So you’re fine dragging your heels and
waiting to hatch
from some chrysalis
Caterpillar-to-butterfly experience
but some ass-hole’s probably
going to smash that pumpkin-patch.
so I’d rather be practicing for something.

No comments:

Post a Comment