at noon,
oh and within the worst thoughts possible
i come to myself in a dream,
asleep and aching on the couch,
now i have known the madness and the
callous causeway of
the single man,
i went through this world
fucking
and burning with gasoline and
with the guise of some
false-hearted lover i came
false-clean,
but now,
gaffed like the tape
of a work site,
melting in the sun,
turning black with the hand-mark of
subway railings,
i see my faults and
my funs.
It runs out,
the gas,
and the engine clips and corks,
what would i give
to have this rest stop
yeaaaaaars ago,
knowing the mileage of the
road.