No one says "I am over you" unless they aren't. Wading waste deep in hammers pipes wrenches jewelerspliers cameras paintbrushes knots pocketknives bottles motorcycles;
"I am over you."
There's no way to make the exit sign pretty, it's just time to go.
When you trace everything to its source, you will find that we are all eating stone.
When you trace everything to its source, you will find that there is none.
When you can't remember without concentration
without references of apartments past
or jobs once held
"Where was I when...?"
When even the list of names has faded.
Tired of suicide poets
tired of the tortured soul tired of drunken death tired of the gutter and refuse
give me a song give me a poet who loves through long life give me high notes off a tin ceiling silver moths by the canister lights
It's all I want now almost the only thing I remember these cowardly lion noises the funny faces pulled your cartoon voice your singing voice your talking voice wading waist deep in you.
Give me an example to live by.