Hope is a bird that dies outside
my window every morning...

It's raining, a gentle thunder
harmonizing with the persistent...

and i'm leaning against
a rusted Chevy truck...

and i'm sitting in the kitchen
again, tracing tiles that need...

it's the third week of
august and i'm eating...

This won't be praising
the planet for existing...

The hollowing out has
started; there's nowhere...

This will be rough, as I've had far
too many shots of vodka, yet...

Today, I reminded you
that this house will never...

Murder barges in shortly
after midnight, no knock...

And I'll wear cardigans
at the start of August...

I often wished for
more of your silence...