three-hour window,
might play a Friday all night
on a Tuesday.
the night we escaped
transitional housing,
most people were
boosting time from
the backkseats of old
four-door Fords
parked on their streets.
yea, the same ones they lived on.
while we lived on instant rice
and the prospect of drunk at midnight,
they were foaming at the mouth
in front of static on a screen.
yea, the same ones they lived on.
these days are fiends for our seconds
and we've been reckless with them
so far,
so I don't know.
my deathwishes snap twigs in the distance,
still.