i’m writing this to you my friend because the last time i said goodb… it was passive i thought for sure we would be
on a night back in 1998 at the 24 hour Happy Chef diner in Fort Dodge, Iowa when both of us were drunk and stoned
still he saws at the legs of his Steinway old habits only die hard so he tickles the ivory cigarette hanging from his lips
sipping cocktails in a dark corner… lit with cigarettes and neon we edged ourselves closer to the end of our stools to the end of our drinks
what I love about this country is the jazz and the blues and
dawn is a coffin stars take their graves in morning come night, resurrect
when you’re going down the momentum is compelling to the point it almost overwhelms you at the bottom
it was never my intention to clip… i was only trying to take a feathe… so that i would have something to… after you flew away
walking down Rundberg a gentleman of the homeless junkie… approaches me from ahead “hey mayne ima be hones wischu
the fast foot of gloom quick through labyrinths of joy always catches up
he does not to leave the vine out of any loathing for his kin he simply can not stay waiting around to turn to raisin knowing that out there somewhere
he speaks to me through early Alic… only with darkness does light shine and
if you’ve show up to the poetry re… with no poems to read you better worry because you can’t go on stage with… so start looking for an exit
if ever he drowns a swimmer will miss water life regrets no death
avoiding cocoons pride is the caterpillar that shuns butterflies
