Hermes flew to me tonight, yet I can only feel that he only walked. The pace of his slowed ambition had left me wallowing in an after thought of singing to Krishna. You know, it is true. As the ambitions of a fleeting deity left you wondering about a part of you. A body close to your own, grinding your thighs and holding you close. For you to only dream of a past that haunts you. Never so truth full, the lies are explosives. For you. Picking up the laughter with your hands and legs only to haunt you. The smell of cardboard is a genocide of our own rage. You were always a ruse. Lets use our legs and arms to ruin our friends, who never thought we could love so we would hide.

Give it up, they said. Your friends. The funk I lived to in the rhythm of their words. The flow and pitch of the tones keep me grovin’ to the everlasting words, we are your friends. Until the bitter end. When we are alone, who comes along to pick us up. Inside looking in, to remind us, that is what friends are for.

What do you want to do tonight?

Iono, what do you want to do tonight?

For I have not reached the top and had to stop, that is what is bothering you.