A blue guitar, twelve pieces of silver-
ware, some feldspar, an essay on The Art
of War, two pine bookshelves, fifty-four books
about the past, a stone axe that must have
belonged to the last of the Mohicans, fifty more
books about bones, stones and famous pomes,
a sliver of glass from a mirror that shattered
the last six years like they didn't matter
plus one to go, a shitload of old liquor bottles,
a fossil of an inner earbone from a killer whale,
a spear-point older than 12,000 years+plus,
a tooth from a shark as big as a ****** bus,
dust marks from missing pictures of us.

Sunday morning,
the air froze, the dahlias
once bloomed angry,
now they shiver and sigh.

Autumn breeze, faint but still,
the padded ghost-steps
of your laugh, running wild,
like vintage photographs;
scattered Polaroids of
my memory - a smile here,
a grimace there.

How the heat of
emotions buries itself
in the clothes of yesterday,
How difficult it is to
fetch from the seams.
The needles only *****
at a faint feeling.

I wonder; do you forget me
as winter forgets the living?

Because once an old man
told me I had sad eyes

Sunsets melt to chalky lines,
like cigarette stubs, they died
when you met her.

These days only my fingers
remember summer,
I touch the hearts of others
to warm them too.

My voice wind chimes,
the eulogy of the storm,
when I breath your
name I shudder...

And listen-
because I am in
the echoes
of her, of us.

a bottle of wine and some cigarettes
I'm calling off all my bets
I pray for hope, ain't found it yet
I guess this is all I get

a pair of boots and a dusty trail
I walk alone and tell my tale
I do my best, but I don't prevail
I guess it's all a fairytale

some cigarettes and a bottle of wine
I will get along just fine
to try to defy what's in my mind
I guess sometimes I might be blind

a little smoke and a little drink
I'm no longer on the brink
a dying mind, it starts to stink
I guess I just need time to think

a bottle of wine and some cigarettes
I'm holding off on all my debts
I guess I'll live with my regrets
a guess is all a guess begets

We are all diferent people with different though
But in point of our lifes
We all suffer through staff that makes us strong, make us equals

Instead of a card
I carved you a pome
on my heart.

It didn't hurt too much
until I sewed myself up.

You see, I know
you'll never see
the words I bleed.

You're about to lay and rest and
I'm about to keep awake.
You, to dream of her and
Me, to think of you.
While walking under the moon
Waiting for the right time, soon.

But looks like I'm just like a woman
Hoping for the stars to come
In sickness
Of rain in july.