I want to spit my tongue
straight out into the wind
Because I'm better stricken dumb
  than smart-mouthed or thick skinned
Straight on to the edge of town
  I will chase my temper out
There, we'll talk about the "whethers"
  We'll talk the sun down
And I'll hope that's the last time we speak

Walk across the bridge on 5th Street
Half reflecting on past choices
Glimpse the moon on Goose Creek's surface
Spy a ******.
Recall voices.
Like the one my father used before last April blew his chest up
Or ones I can't remember 'til I heave my boiling guts up
                           in some yard.

A tinny crash through piled leaves,
          I just want to make it home--
The S.P.D. are everywhere
          and we don't get along so very well

It's gotten late and gotten old.
It's gotten cold the heat is busted back where I make my home
I've hit my wall, I hit the pavement
Stand me up--two streets to go

5th and Bellevue ain't so bad
I'm nearly home.