when the tanks and trucks had faded beyond the borderand the soldiers in the mud had started to swellcolor came back to me and i felt the heat of tear..
i don't want to write about you anymore.on the nights when i canget off mydrunk assand write a damnword or twoi want to write aboutkingsthe moonboozes..
no one laughed when he told them he was dying.and when the silence got too bigsomeone said they were sorryand people hummed in agreementthere was a co..
he smells like foster's and cheap cigarettes but he doesn't seem to mind asthey surround him like a thick jacket on a june afternoon andhe laughs but ..
when the ship left port it sounded its horna weak and dying thingengines chugging spewing smokefish swirling in the white wake.it didn't seem to mindi..
i don't say much anymoreandmaybe that's for the best.buti think, i still thinkmuch too muchand none of it's anything good,or reallyworth sharingi tell..