1395

asphalt and spit

splitting wood

with pine and a waxed rope

keeping you warm

your body against mine

;

get distracted

took another drink

Lynn

the middle of the road

asking

taking

telling

talking

I’m not trying to run

trembling

a terror

tearing

saying

I gotta get gone

I gotta forget some things

;

just prey

to some wild beast

Ronk

on cocaine

and Baker

almost blue

it’s late

to realize

too late

to realize

those good nights

were good nights

only

with silver paint on the eyes

and brown syrup on the tongue

or

the taste of sweat

stuck behind the teeth

and Prine

on gold

while we’re in South Carolina

lying in a truck bed

down the highway

;

enough storms

my baby

don’t trust the weather

report

enough rain

my baby

can’t trust the weather

report

cause nothing is new

just my bones

raining in a card game

for a winner

with shark eyes

hell

hell

the cigarettes taste

like Christmas trees

and I thank the good lord

the way you ignore my blues

the way you help me

with your clothes

when I’m too fucked

and my hands won’t stop

shaking

and I thank the good lord

you let me kiss your heels

while I undo your boots

hell

at least

you went blind

at least

you gave me a taste

when they took the bowl

from my lips