There was speed
in the way the rose hips aged on your alabaster canvas.
Nothing falls gracefully.
Life passes in waves and ripples
the lulls of it trapped in pockets of wrinkled flesh.
When smoke colors your finger tips
like turmeric.
Whose lungs would be better to seep the blood
it took to build our youth.
I said if you let him deal in front
of me I'd **** him.
It took more then broken bones to keep you out of the tar
and feathers.
Those needles I broke just turned to coal
stains on tin foil, crumpled
it was the only thing
above ground when you were through.