eyes closed the city bus rocking you
to sleep like a baby boy
tho late afternoon sun
shines thru clear blue
ballads in my ears
i see yr heart and mine exposed
lilting and enlarged yet luminous
they pump us full
and it's not so
empty
or far away

I can feel the sickness welling up inside me
Is it too late to put this behind me
Sighing late and tossing
'When I turn the whole universe turns with me'
It's too late start giving things away
Get ready for the last trip
With hollowed eyes pinned
And dry cracked thirsty lips
Each word seeming strange to me

Waking up in another city in another province. It's not quite as crazy as it sounds but a shock nonetheless, this wasn't my house, wasn't my bed.

Picked me up outside a restaurant after she parted ways with me to go to work. I guess you could say we were getting that work too.

I insist that I hid some for the next day, before heading to her house, femme du jour...Really I had just smoked it all up.

Tore apart apartment looking for it - true ****** behavior, as we pieced together the better part of a week three sheets to the wind.

Is it really too late now? Obsessed with illusory thresholds, something a child would do.

I think it was too late three years ago when we found you blue. What a strange and foamy gurgle emitted when we pounded on your chest. ***** and human but distinctly lifeless.

It is really too late now, three years and running. You were stunning in the morning sun like an angel (how I hate judeochristian metaphors a bitter exhale), finally at peace.

'I saw you from the bus'
Walking towards me
As cars zoom by (overpass)

Walking towards the golden arches
I think everyone in this parking lot
Is here for the same reason

Roll one on the baby changing station
Blow away the crumbs giggling
Hands a pill to me
Over bathroom wall
comic sans 'crank'

Tells me about new job
Line cook
looking for an apartment
On the French side

Tells me about the Mission
We swap stories about shadow people
And lion gods in the stars, triangulating

Tells me about the dragon and the monkey
On his back, Jack and functions of Fibonacci sequence

Snow falls heavy from low flying clouds
The sounds of the city muted
Like jazzy horns all around me
Miles Davis

This will be the next one

everyone is just doing the best they can
that thought, when it goes
through my head

it's like it can quiet
all the chaos up there for a minute

i guess that's my mantra
spiritual
in the Eastern sense
let's you say a lot, let's you say
nothing at all

Pseudo-intellectualism, dilettante
I AM NOT VAPID, NOR VACUOUS
i am empty, fill me up
snarling like a ******* beast in heat
****** Rasputin
eat me up

Broken speech drawl on slow
Tell you where to ****** go
Rather be alone
Set in stone
Too  late
Now