Unfamiliar voices behind ancient wall–
some old plumbing noises.
Tried to reach out to you lately–
wrong number, wrong time or maybe wrong dimension.
Three pizza pies with olives and a soda can
with a pack of Department of State cookies.
When the summer will fade;
a quelled fall won’t bring any redemption.
One eagle comes, One eagle eats, One eagle retires–
nonetheless the wound will be healed by tomorrow.
I was curios; I poked a hole
in the fabric of the Universe to relieve sexual pressure.
I binge watched you through that hole
browsing Web in the quest for self-expression.
This tired cuckoo clock on the wall
is confusing seconds in psychedelic raving.
Tomorrow the eagle will come back
for another lesson in grateful craving.
You can call me Prometheus,
but I’d rather be dubbed as the Marlboro Man.