Cargo Guzzler shoulder drops and again into the dream there is little hesitation in the water, the scum fills my boots as i step too deep i slip on water balloons, or condoms filled with water and people who aren’t there I trip on solid stomachs when there isn’t enough light in my veins but when there is you can see it and when the night is heavy and my breath is low i would let my guard down, for you and after drinks my shoulders drop all of a sudden, without the delay of a switchboard echo dreams caught in faces that aren’t quite jagged or present i’d like to see faces for a minute there’s so much fog above the woodpiles at night the lumberjack must sleep unsteadily if they do their job right now I have a question, what does it take to swallow something large? like pride? and when is it viable to admit defeat? i don’t believe in allusions but my Waterloo is coming it will fill my boots as i step too deep and that will be that, I’ll be swung and far away
chris herrmann