You don’t show your hands
You keep your hands to
yourself. Everything got grit and oh the
cloudline cold mornings, this new year of keep yourself hold tight or a shotgun. You went thin gait down the streetline I should’ve
held you every second I had instead of neighbor, coworker, for you were a boy
and this world needs boys, whether slinging weed at the stop sign or bringing
me bottles weekend nights, my god we have gotten this town so drunk who knows,
tony, you sweet thing the police have shut our whole block down and are bullhorn
calling out your name for two hours now, nothing to do but say yo t, can I pop
over nbd I am here. Who will down 12th
St gait a boy any longer. I should
have run out to you every time you hitch gaited past my window instead of all
this, t, we are all alone, yes, t, you were too precious, t, yes this outfit is
stupid and I am not myself biking off to be teacher, no this ain’t it either behind
this bar, yet there is earth somewhere a boy throws marbles, boys in trees,
there are boys alone the wind hugs in the trees, there is the wind through the
door crack hugging you to your next life, there is the shotgun, t, there is all
us wishing this shotgun would hold you instead the police busting in and all us
with our weird hands and the wind down 12th St and this earth now.
