we are a horrible team
kicking holes in the twilight like the silence is drywall
like the most unhappy of accidents.

we are two tongues caught in a mousetrap together
waiting for each other's assistance
suffering for the sport, the art.

tomorrow trading songs
coded messages beneath catchy choruses
enough to feed the families we don't have.

for the rugged old men on the highest shelves
who eat too much and spit much more:
if we give you back your own advice, will you take it?

here below's my laundry list
reminds me to air the ***** stuff and
give back what you left behind

..."maybe i will tomorrow", i imagine you saying
for the 1000th 'tomorrow' in a row