I threw my phone.
a relic of the railroad.
only to be found.
a tale only to be told.
of the couch.
I lay.
the same goddamn place.
and now I just bleed.
what's good for me.
mortal and stupid.
more than a pretty face.
I can't kick the tradition
that is love's sweet letdowns.
the same thing.
a funny Spring.
I am in the only night.
just when love is right.
I am writing poems.
that mean nothing.
but nonsense.
very silly.
it's lonesome out here on the road.
my fingers figure to disappoint.
no matter if you are interested.
or not.