Shaky nicotine fingers gather in small groups
Talks of old ghosts
And new designer boots.
My deeply religious uncle still savors acid
I guess we’re still tripping
Over the ways we once lauded.
Techno reminds me of lost ecstasy days
Read to me your Russians
As at your mouth I gaze.
I’ve fallen into sin once again
And I’m trying to clamber out-
Shrewd judgments from churchmen.
These conversations of dreams and desires
Climbing mountains, kleptomania
Of these things I eternally tire.