6 am

[Split]

trace sidewalks alive, skies a spotless cerulean blue.
then watch the chalk melt in tomorrow's ensuing deluge.
you cant accept life and death and refute the impermanent,
but you can ride through the loops with a stoop for a firmament.
rails are steps in a slide off the counter, crash into miserable,
abstract and cynical. distraction pinnacle- you'd have reworded it.
that's the Split Eight steez, and in complete seriousness-
welcome, and stay please, he's not paid to make these appearances
at the attention deficit, ten-eighty HD experience.
so, it's hard to believe this is stream of consciousness
cause it's hard for me to scheme through a phonics list,
and it's hard to meet the Dean, off a college list,
so I sneak into receptions and drink through the vodka fifth.
"if you think you conjure it"- Mr Rogers with a ouija board,
I'd have never guessed beneath the vintage cardigans
sleeped an armored demon lord, but he hints at all the symptoms
and to me it's pretty obvious. Living large again,
Scotch and sardines, literally off a hundred ten dollars a week.
I spring for seconds on ramen and my coffers would squeak.
I'm that on poverty, b. Wore a watch with dead battery,
til the time a Professor gets to askin me,
but I (think) I didn't skip half a beat-
and I told him, get a watch you fucking fragile old freak.

I'm attachment. Untrue. Arc, tangential character plots.
Creased in the cracks of shoes, stopped, like a meandering paradox.
Stamped into the barren earth, a stake to the neighboring deed.
Nail ninety-five plagiarized theses with felt tip to cloth,
savor the fraying of meaning as it melts in the wash