u/415Mourner

She polishes,
The Jack,
As she’s sitting beside the tracks.

Yeah she thinks of me,
A fallen man,
Trying to start a fire.
In the alleyways,
Of a paradise,
A poor young fool for hire.

The cadence of compassion,
It’s burning a hole in my stomach.
I see you there in the reflection of the BART
windows,
And I keep calling your name, but you won’t
look up,
You never look up.

It’s that prosperity in spare change I was
mentioning.
This is my morning cigarette,
And it burns with a bitter taste

Written on a flight after a funeral in 2019:

Hey, I just wanna say thank you.
I’m down the road a little bit but, I’ll be around.

These things do heal in time.
So let the wounds make you feel for a little while - still alive for a little while.

Where the sky meets the city,
It drinks to me,
Sings to me,
Whispers, “what did you really mean to me?”

Those songs they selected, they sucked.
And that food they were serving did too.
Here’s to all that rotting food for a rotting you,
In the back of a black Cadillac

I’m not sure how to process that.
As the guilt is sure to manifest,
If it does I’ll know.

when push comes to shove,
I’ve taken all I can take,
And the rivers of break lights give me a headache.
I am amongst the afternoon paupers,
Crack rock shoppers and BART hoppers.

This world has shown me what’s good and what isn’t.
And although the pavement never sounded so inviting,
I’ll pay my bills this time around,
Drink my beers at 6,
And go to bed at 8,
For the next few years until the earth shakes.