There still might be a place for us somewhere.

one can never be sure whether it's good poetry or bad acid

The park grass looked greener, the park benches looked better and the flowers were trying harder.

the tired sunsets and the tired people - it takes a lifetime to die and no time at all.

as the shadows assume shapes I fight the slow retreat now my once-promise dwindling dwindling now lighting new cigarettes pouring more drinks it has been a beautiful fight still is.

stay with the beer. beer is continuous blood. a continuous lover.

Maybe when I get in the grave, things will be beautiful.