Over 16,530,397 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
Singing in a tube.
The smell of wet pavement and dirty water
strolled through my nose
and loitered in my lungs.
Power was still on.
Third and final notice.
The radio refused to yield.
Can't find my shoes.
Shirts are all matted with footprints
outlined in dog hair and dust.
I'd smoke outside if it was coming down just a little lighter.
Steps make a skidding of refuse and remnants.
There might've been a note in all that.
Only we never said goodbye.
Is it true that I have to?
What gets out when I do?
What remains?
An experience and softness for someone a little less withered.
A lot less hollow.
The kind of caricatures of happy people you see smiling
and haunting the places we think they should be.
A painted-on toothy grin and a glassy stare.
As loud as any whimper for help.
