Alsmith224

I like Photography, Guitar, and Writing. I like alt, indie, classic rock, and weed.

[alsmith224]

W 24th st Waltz

[alsmith224]

The Waydown

[alsmith224]

Armageddon 

[alsmith224]

Portal

[alsmith224]

Staring Nowhere

[alsmith224]

Portside

[alsmith224]

Summit

[alsmith224]

Gate to the Garden of Eden

[alsmith224]

Stung

[alsmith224]

Breathe Easy

[alsmith224]

Rex Outis(King of Nothing)

[alsmith224]

Harbored

[alsmith224]

Immolation

[alsmith224]

Lost

[alsmith224]

Fretting

[alsmith224]

LNR

I'd like to walk on the moon for a day. 

Cut through the pathless surface 

down into the craters. 

Hear those who look past the skies 

call me the man on the moon. 

Conduct the waves, 

and let the surf be crushed 

by the very pull and push of my fist. 

Bounce from imprints 

of Armstrong to Kubrick 

and react to their dust. 

What I’d give to weightlessly flip 

and revolve above the crust 

and gaze upon land and sea 

from 15 billion inches away.

 I’d like to walk on the moon…for a month. 

But if I were to wane for more than a moon,

I would coast for the crescent 

and glide towards a New. 

[alsmith224]

Spaceman

He wishes to waltz 

From paradise road 

To the lacquered front door 

Showing bronze numbers 22

With the poisoned solstice sun

Setting and cascading 

Down past wired fence  

And behind—onto Grover Farm

Instead, he stumbles 

Up the crumbling brick stairs

And trips over the dripping peeled orange

that was thrown over

His head toward the early

Dry sunrise at 4am

Valleys and mountains  

Form in the creases 

Of the newly changed sheets

Needle-thin rivers cut

Through clean cotton 

And a spotlight is hung 

And focused over his head

He’s unmoving

Tie strewn and suit sprawled out 

Across comfy rt 1

Like a deer 

The eyes are still

Held by the headlights

During his DMT daydreams 

He flails 

From his nearly crashed Yugo Gv

Sleepwalking towards his spiraling topographics 

Without them  

He is caught

On a bare mattress

By a titanic rusted staple 

in the midst of mescaline 

But he did not sink below

Between the red cherry frame

He gazed above

In awe of the paint splattered

And starlit crevices and summits 

Creasing the canvas superglued

To his ceiling while he floats 

In 0G towards pixie lights over the Rhône

No longer tethered to the discomfort of a spotlight