my friends won't let me publish poems about them.
...but bold of me to thinks the moon still hangs,
and the porcelain thrown holds,
alll the yesterland fears
hanging in the porthole window
like spiderwebs of ion time,
and lesson's from life's buffet
where the ham is free
but the love is over like the cost of soap
and we hate four thousand
to do you proud.
...and I can't sleep, but I am fine.