I went west twice.
the long way now where comets.
meet me for dreadlock kisses.
but I am close to still holing ghosts.
I don't know how I am feeling.
and no windshield can see.
are you still thinking about me?
question marks are empty homes.
I don't want to wreck our hearts.
the stories of our parents are different.
but they gave us good Manhattan.
17th street and a bench and a kiss.
I can feel the secret in the basement.
But I don't think I can keep it anymore.
because I never thought I'd be a lonely poet.
much less a prophet.
I hope people read this shit.
just so they know what has happened.
and what we went through.
every single badger.