Remember the nights of KirkWood,
Putting behind the restaurants
Having penny brews,
Utterances of "the world is ours if only, if only"
If only we knew,
Life's eventual consignment,
Would we still sit in ****** idleness
Would we still shrink from our fearfulness,
Would we still resolve to our confinement.

I can't keep myself from yawning
And stuttering in the cognitive fog
"What's the word, what's the word"
Ideas stumbling along.
Minor in a major song
Claustrophobia in the citys throng

Tethered to hayseed communities,
Languishing in outer fringe suburbia.