buddha.

flipping asphalt like pancakes and smiling gingerly at the clouds that happened to know his number, the wake of the man was more cumbersome than actually knowing him at the time of time's end and beginnings said and lost luxuries cast, port-side, to a bleak oblivion that never ever came true. you see, with a lip like that you could throw a good punch and take a nice hike starting ... oh yeah, and tomorrow, feel like you own me one 'cause i'm gonna be needing a paycheck fastening itself lightly the wind that i'm writing. don't worry, babydoll, you just need a hug a kiss an outstanding bliss ... that ... true, you've been owed through names and tokens stolen. false, puck, all is mended and never was in fact beyond repair, but listen, keen eyes never lose sight.