The springs’ mud-love rain comfortably at rest
Leaning on, faintly, my car.
As the smell of my ex reminds me of why
Things are the way they are.
Such familiarity from a jacket
Winters crest it bares
Me, too weak to refuse.
Oh spring, so rich with kick and snare
With static
“Stones travel in two’s”

-it doesn’t matter
A coffee and cigarette silken voice
Offered me its palm
I bowed, showing my respect but still with
Haste it clapped in symbols
-I needed to learn

Jim was in the passenger seat
And Syd was in the back
We spoke of smoke and fermented things
The substance that prophets lack
What onlookers would see
Seemed like a dreadful plea
For medication and a cheap exchange of words.
Still within this car, grip tire with tar
A spiritual rush sat throne
And as the sun sets West, as well as the rest
I too am still alone.