This is how we go
how it goes where
it goes, why, though?
Why, though?

Could be any reason.
Smoke all day.
Could be, could be.
**** keeps thought
coming open on it
honest in a beautiful
way. Could be any
reason. Then what of
the stressed breath
exhalation, my others?
What of the imprint
apathy? I alone live in
fear, with so many
fearful near. It must be
most of us but if it's only
some, then where's the
map to you, lonely? Puff
and cough and deliver
words we want in ear at
the close of any day. I
could picture myself dying
every night, go from dance
to stand to sit, to bone from
clay to sand from grasping
in embrace with you.

This is how we go
how it goes where
it goes, why, though?
Why, though?

Could be any reason.
Could be, could be.