honeyhouse:

new jam for youz soon

the afternoon birds are singing, and they are on their closing tune,

ain’t it pretty just to hear em sing? ain’t it nice?

new jam hh

the internet is just one big conversation at a bar. each voice, aside from a select few, are trying to speak louder over the white noise of the crowd. louder, louder, brighter, louder, etc. you know those conversations, like most, that seem like two heads yapping away, not listening to the other, only speaking to hear their own voices? that is the internet. the patience, the rythym, the fucking drip drop drip drop of the leaking sink. where did it go?

DUPONT CIRCLE

For I am but a small sapling,

growing and rising through.

The sturdy oak sees above and farther,

smells what I’ve got in mind,

but I am no head hunter, I want no glory.

Just to be.

Part of the picture taken from the skyest of skies.

My roots grow where they want, see.

So, the thought must remain,

Forest,

the above is a lonely place too.