As I chuff these halls and batter any walls put up
to get though to you as the ice cream truck chimes by
that only the phonies want to hear what happens next
and even their interests quickly wander
in a place like this
All the bad things, magnets, and vices still work for me
even-though I refuse to go shopping for a fedora
listen to this though
the timbers come down through out the great house
dust accumulates back into bone, skeleton voices whisper
like wind from the north, like death’s steed huffing this way
and I think how like a story life goes, how slow then quick
then quicker than say the shift to a new chapter, each story
takes on the life and death of itself from beginning to end
almost every time in a place like this
able to picture disaster before it happens
There’re drawbacks but we can get into them later
How sure are we that we should go up against any one
being so sure of things being what they are tends to be
not so sure – or might the cure have something to do
with the methods and manners as well as the intentions
despite all the resultant debate about a question mark or not
