They creek
They have for years
The rust has had its way
The play has increased
Not too much dismay
The sound apparent
The grind that gathers now
Soon the gate will not latch
Enjoy it
It's your last chance
Anyhow.

When you get stabbed in the back
It seems an affront
You get knifed in the front
Then it's nobody's fault
Both seem conspiratorial
But it's the way that we are
Those who wield the blade
Are just those what we are.

Waving at me from the thicket
(hullo!)
my lost glove
faded in its gesture
waving at the passers by merrily
sun bleached but definitely mine
swaying in the afternoon sunlight
here you are finally
in June
the other I threw away
gave up
scanned the pavement
searched the park
along the canal
eyes down
some nice stranger
has done this "good deed"
I know it was borne of kindness
fear of it getting muddy and wet
thinking they know best
I pass these waving garments
In the trees
(where no one is looking)
On a gate post
(the owner scanning the ground around)
On a bush in the bouncy breeze
(to be blown off into the undergrowth)
I pass them on the ground
And I leave the ****** thing
So it can be found!

California is getting punished,
For something unapparent.
Because they have the breath of Hell,
Burning through their front doors.
So for the love of the west coast,
Somebody save Malibu.

I don't know about you
You don't know about me too
When we meet there's the loath
That I don't feel about you
And then I suppose you feel it
But I can never be sure
We view ourselves
So completely unpure
And why should we
What have we done from this mark
I see your shadow
Poor defined in the dark.

When there’s light
at the end of a tunnel
and the tour
of it’s darkness is done
May we never make
the careless mistake
of missing our time in the sun