Flow

Turning the pages of the dishonest man,
intriguing to some but to others a brand,
falling from the fan vibrating in the window,
of course there's nothing to be seen until we go,
displacing the faces of the fire kiln vases and exchanging the glares of reflective nightmares,
I feel the need to jump at the throat of an angry mob,
time zone that thrives in the misty dry skies,
crazy, eccentric, euphoric at times picking up pieces and following dimes,
hurdling walls and temperament falls to the knees of the waitress with the glass shattered halls,
displacing and skipping through time like the claws of a demon ripping flesh as blood draws,
anger a release is all that is needed when dropped to your knees it's luck that's been seeded,
faith is a feeling that you have or you don't,
not needing the stages of the boot wearing goat,
one exception to the rule is to glare at your reflection in the treacherous pool,
to see what has been and to never again,
your turn at the time makes intention your fuel....