You know
once you’ve been lit on fire
you fall smoking
til you’re dust.

i tap my fingers til they look old
til i look at them
they always look old

I was gonna die early
earlier
but i didn’t.

when the next ideas about what is behind death
begin to surface
call me.
I’ll be watching Bloopers

I want it to sound like everyone is on old wooden chairs that don’t match
and there’s a coupla lamps on with torn shades
and the floor is stained everywhere you look,
but nobody’s looking
someone’s singin and someone’s drummin on the wooden table
someone’s keepin time with his feet
and I think it sounds like it’s raining outside.