torn labels

how much heart
                       is in that one

muddy     heart
artist    fall

get up and write that              n’artist pour

not if you didn’t
get up in th middle of th night
to write that shit.

bad run of life
gambling insane for a good river,
and ending up walking
parking lots alone.

th greatest blade on 100th ave
was th music
(was yr coffee hair…

my eyes are scissors)

                      talking w- my hands
                      something I didn’t confess
                      always telling myself ‘she knows’

                      not to replace scenery
                      but what do I hav left
                      to take on that road.

# posted by hardyf : 15:47