lightin’ a roach dube after
watchin’ a doc’ on good ole Buk'
listening to the music of another Friend,
one waiting on my words
ones that are working
themselves out
trying to find their way
between all the other’s owed
but I can’t help but think
how many were
are
will be wasted,
how many stains will be
about dead plants on a wardrobe
about the ones hidden in the new tv box
or the Cats buried in the only backyard at the Fuck You Finger house
or in the closets we all carry
shit how many stains will be apologies?
how many will be greetings?
how many be fare thee wells never to be known?
-2006
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