Seventy-two now and as mad as they come, but even so, now on occasion there's a few come and help Put a crucifix, a portico just like there is at the
You say I have to get a real life But I'm not sure how that in making someone or other rich Is any more real than making a niche for yourself I'm without
She's standing at the door and getting one thing clear I throw the book down and march right into their eyes I'm reduced to almost nothing now Still,
I'm being held at the end of a tether At the edge of our yard Stretching away The work keeps going on But I've had enough Of being held in single blocks
I'll spend this day in a reverie I won't focus on anything I don't have to I don't feel the need Look at the others with contempt or is it envy? I'll
Back and fourth West to east Across the sprawl On the balls of her feet In her arm On her score card It is bruising the company that you keep And try
No call this morning No sleep at all Not getting any answers searching through telephones Oh absence, take form Half cold in a king size dawn Breaking
Cursing crimson walls A thousand or so souls on the floor Shouldering away through strobe and intoxicated Having berated himself in the hall And not
Lathered up and weepy The informant told me And none too sympathetic That our run would turn And standing sent to burn In decisions, hard print and whatever
What was I looking at when I was looking up? Remind me What was I looking at? Remind me You had an answer for everything Dropping from our height We
It's almost a shock This lint I keep dusting off Why am I here? Am I being covered up? And after being ripped out from what little wall space I found
