Old Glass

old glass,

fragile,

without a plan

knocked around by the next world war.

sitting in a dump of thought,

the same clock turns out the same lights

again with the weather…

again with the names…

crooked,

backed against the wall…

shorter ladder,

ease the fall;

       

another bad season for the law

in time,

hostage negotiation

the winter says “fuck all your reasons!”

still type past my prime;

another white computer

    

head full of slaves

searching for their master.

in the elevator up

you drift past my body

down the halls of another

lost city tonight 

(tonight, tonight, tonight)

shake down with some fine

young

sisters of the moon

same idea,

same old habits,

same old songs from a room,        

 like those

 cherry blossoms growing

 way down in your soul,

the avalanche of smoke

is starting to curl

around whatever is left

around whatever is next

around whatever is best for everyone else;

gutter rats and stalemates…

that game of chess

i never should have lost.