Grand Entrance to the World of the Dead

Return to 'burn' only to find out you're already in that urn.

Locked away but not away; somewhere nearby but unreachable, a periphery so notfaroff it's always in sight.

(Some of us) Still run down the same [mental&emotional] streets we revered/reproached/replaced as children.

Hiding inside&out, writhing about, taken out&in.

I really hope this is well-received. I really hope there's some sort of reprieve.

Onward, upward, greener [redder] grasstures.

Two men. Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Brothers? One is nothing, success or failure depends on two.

Rather pointless, rather stilted, fetid; not what we want us going after.

On the Clickity-clack Express it's clear I'm always under duress, unless I forget.

Shadows frighten what one oughtn't be gripping (that thing before/hind you).

A psychedelic montage of home movie footage gives way to a silent western story.

Beyond all human restraint lies one's lugubrious layers of paint.