drop your weapons

it is an overpass in here.  there are swamps inside your knees, and crocodiles who are lazy.  this doorway is built out of the way you look.  and when i walk through it i will build a tower out of electric guitars.  it will sound like a stairway to heaven.  but i can't figure out how to make sense.  my blood is made of tea kettles.  all day it has been the rain, falling like a car accident.  i want to curl up in the warmth, be still, and maybe sleep.