Soul-er Ø / unfinished

A vague vision

Oh Soul-er Ø you no count loser.

Where have you gone now.

Ole Yeti b*****d.

I only find signs of your passing.

Your brother's port.

Your sister's wine.

All the tribes speak of when to sage. 

I find myself daydreaming of you coming round the corner in that clean bum film.

Wearing a new jacket or some other designed janky mix up. 

In that slant of merry foaming cut on the move to the next hollow fix.

Bully baller loads down in the hills.

Yelling about her three o-clock shadows.

And how you found a new pill some little sassy mink gave you past the teller's banks. 

How she wore homemade patched leather and had hairy legs.

With those diamond eyes shining laughter tell me how you left her when you compared them.

While I counter with it's just really splitting hairs. 

I bet you taught them a shrill whistling toot from that gap in where your right K-9 tooth used to live.

We could sit under the overpass and shave our king's pennies or melt them in a pan to pass off as other grand people with a fool's hand.