Skate shoes and scape goats
Bearded mean with shaved throats
I walk around with the same hope that my mother does
She gave it to me
Nose rings and old things
My uncle Joe sat in the cold and slowly sold things
One by one
The sun isn't welcome here
At least it seems that way
Or perhaps an old transgression made by this part of the Earth made the sun uninterested in spending much time here
Shining only enough each year to remind us what we're missing
You can't eat a poem and dharma can make for a marvellous excuse
Here I am again, alone in the city
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