I don't remember much,
About what I've read,
The aliens who harvest our cattle
And the red pox the Aztecs got.
All I know is that you
Can't pull a string around me
And tie my robs because
I'm of the world and the
World is of me.

I'll remember the gentle things I want
like the drunk and
High howling or
Like the astronaut who came
From mars and was convinced
This was Venus and   
You threw the underwear
And Khaki shorts through the window,
On my roof.

I told you I'd always be here even
If you threw me inside out
The window. Wild dogs are no longer
Starving thanks to you. My underwear and
Khakis are being worn by the homeless.
My dishes and cups are shattered from
the fall. the cable still
Works miraculously, the Browns
Lost by 7 unfortunately.
I'm sopping up my bottle of
Bourbon from 1953 with a dish rag.
Maybe I could get some sleep on my bed
If I wait long enough.

I'll act like I know things,
But the drizzle of sounds will
Be an old man's stroke.
You'll think less of me.
You'll think I got lost in the rain
Somewhere. You'll think I evaporated
With the river. You'll think I evaporated up,
Blowing cloud rings that the
Birds showed me how to do. I just got
Lost finding you and found another
Way around.