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it's a fucking poem.

I said it was nothing.
I lied, it was nothing.
I set your clock just four seconds forward
to youth all over again in a minute of splenda

you've got to take each lie as it comes
and hold in the nose you'd like to stick out for catching
something swell, a lie each time you turn

in a world where card games become fanfares
and a dog's shake is nothing but a wiggle
take my hand and bold your way through the thunder
because on the other side I might stay with you awhile,
if the royalty doesn't have to crown me.

I want to be yours away from here
where the poetry isn't in motion anymore,
and we can remember last summer
fairy-taling ourselves to this year.

would you put your mind away
and follow the circle of your heart's eye
eyeing up the red vines on my own mind for yours to mesh
until I deem you ready for the world at small.