keep your / hand on the rail / if / all / else fails

<< Sunday, Jul. 31, 2005 - 1:12 pm >>
bones speak for themselves

when you are really gone, all you ever remember is the smoke filled rooms and a basket of dirty laundry by the couch. how her ash burned a hole in the soft leather. and soft bones and bruised knees.

are the birds crazy, or is it the wine? let's suppose there was some significance between the lines of your creased pages. well then what? will you come back to clarify a few things you've fondly missed?