Talk of circles, punching out. Looking in, drawing circles down. Falling off the south marking ground. Talking out of turn, drawing circles down. . Like Pilate, I have a dog.
Don't feel like home. He's a little out. And all these words alone. Is nothing like your poem. . Putting in, inputting in. Don't feel like methadone. A scratching voice all alone.
It's out of my hands making your hands meet. Stumble as it's crumbling out of reach. It's in the cards of destiny your sanity in tow. . Designate my luck.