drag me out, a hole in the night, the mark of linoleum making your attempt at playing immense permanent and disfigured, so that's why, opinions to yourself, elision doesn't work like that, begging this man onstage to consummate his poem, if only he would just make the fucking connection between his own words, is it so hard i mean yes we're all quietly nodding we don't really see the raindrops as they are, formation to collision, but as we believe them to be, you fill in the blanks and figure out where i'm going with this because i lost interest before i even started, stringent celebration, conjugation left to the imitators. hands off the handlebars, you'd give anything to start feeling again.