He was sitting on a fencepost
A mouth harp in his hand
He started making music
Like a ghostly rubber band.
He called me a stranger
And, I asked him how he knew.
He raised his head and stared
And seemed to look me through.
He said:
There is nothing down this highway
But heartbreak and a tale
Nobody will friend you here
There’s nothing good for sale
We are here with no way out
So move right on away
You only have your freedom
If you don’t let yourself stay.

Some people think it’s heaven
‘Cause they never had a chance
They never had a friend before
A storybook romance.
They made some stupid choices
Now there’s a piper to pay.
They’re deaf to rhyme or reason
No matter what you say.
Some believe they never had
The character to change,
That they were born without a dream
The hopeless and strange.

But we know lonely backroads
That never reach the bay.
We live in fogs of memory
Here in Futile Quay.
Where once we were children;
Now we never smile.
Our trip down this highway
Is a never-ending mile.
So go on back to comfort
To security and plans.
Stay too long in Futile Quay
You’re out of fortune’s hands.

everyone who passes through the  house of James
plays a part in their second story   story
Nick is not of  the kitchen
but he’s ghosting there

and he tries
he tries   with words  
he tries with dance
he tries so hard we barely see him!

James is thirsty!
and that’s the other story...
He's drying *******
on an old gas cooker

when ‘Phelie   blows in
on a colleague  
o’ Koz Bar leaves  
hi  poising   cat-ready  

on a brown couch
on a couch
that remembers no shape
though she tries

she tries to make an impression
on our blurred nerves too
beginning with alrigh'
which is  hi too   but with feeling  

this hi assumes we know
drama gril and da Richmond crew
And I try to say
I mean I am trying to say

the couch remembers no shape
I have no memory
of drama teachers or  michelle
yelling again darling with feeling this time

then she tells
me what a lonely time
it has been since the…addiction -
michelle poising there

upon the word
like a  Lepidopterist’s pin
on au-then-tic-i-ty -
isn’t it enough that I said it?

now that it’s a dead thing
it spreads its terrible wings
and 'Phelie double drops
her second story    hello  hello

we lean into a kiss  hello
her lips are not dry
though she smokes her mouth un-wet
she tries to say hello

by laughing at
I've given up not-smoking
and we talk
and kiss  a fresh hello

undress hello
touch hello
leading to a breathless hello   hello   hello
and now  I am saying,

*again darling with feeling this time