an' the cigarette tastes like it
tasted when i was ten
in the woods
hiding from my daddy's disdain
and from the knowing it'd bring
mama the gut pain
she brought it on
with old home-fire hearth warmth
and despondence
a never, she
hoped to breathe upon
as these words
and memory frozen fast
i wonder -stumbling
through your past do you
find a trace of me
or just wallow
in that luxury that
was yours, and
you're family's
(and)
what do they think of me...?
the end is sappily upon
us again and your juice
just makes it more easy than the clock
striking timelessly
(conversation with a bottle 2.13.00)
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