I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
the fish cry
and the water
is their tears.
I listen to the water
on nights I drink away
and the sadness [bad word] so great
I hear it in my clock
it [bad word] [bad word] upon my dresser
it [bad word] paper on the floor
it [bad word] a shoehorn
a laundry ticket
it [bad word] cigarette smoke
climbing a chapel of dark vines...
it matters little
very little love is not so bad
or very little life
what counts
is waiting on walls
I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.