Under the dim falsified glow
of a lean and towering Eugene street lamp...

Above a cheaply plateaued landscape
of dime-a-dozen evergreens...

Every little detail of you is left haunting me
like amber dipped embedded coals left embraced...

Some cold f**king response
coming from you, of all people...

I empty another box...
clothes from a different fad...

A conjunction is...
a simple function...

Sifting through this landscape
stretched far and wide, yet few between...

Dirty Russians
broken bicyclettes...

As i sit in here in mild trepidation
i wonder what lies amidst that stare...

I woke up this morning
just to pick up the front page...

Turn the keys & put the lights on low
i sold my ties, took a chance at running...

This is the right step in the wrong direction
i don't think ill ever care...