It’s cold outside tonight
but I had to get out of the house
so I went walking about without
any particular thought in mind
as to where I was heading, you see
I was feeling kind of pine-boxed in
and couldn’t sleep, I needed a 2 a.m.
cigarette, so I put on my clothes, my boots
a coat, grabbed my smokes and slipped
on out the sliding glass door, it’s quieter
than the front one that has a bad habit of slamming, not laying blame, but ****
if it wasn’t darker than the inside of my
eyelids, darker than  the catacombs where
dead stars go when they die, and the moon hides away when it’s all out of shine, just
like where my thoughts sometimes seem
to go, you know, when my mind just won’t
put things behind me, and I’m feeling all
kinds of silence, it’s like listening to moss
growing on stones and wondering things
like why bees don’t die in their own honey
and a white stone in a field full of field-
stone is a pretty nice rock, but still, a rock
all the same, so I walk to the dock down
the road in the dark where a man can go to wash his troubles away before day breaks.