About calls

That stumbling grace was what he counted on to call him out from the rabble he loved the wedge his neck in between.

The sheepish disposition and tattered black book dreams.

It wasn't a farce, I suppose. there's always some truth to things. some spark of man buried among the morass. but who has time to look that deep? who has time to consider what anyone could be when there are so many faces to fuck and tethers to shake free of the catholic guilt those little girls cull above their ankle socks and the way up?

We might as well just sleep it off.

Consider the fractured happenings just a dream. a cheat. a chance to stay clean every morning down in the dumpster dives.

Back where we used to meet.

At least, back where i used to imagine seeing you night after night by the corner laughing dog howls as all the boys fell head to fist in love with the very idea that they could be the one to shine in your diamond shawl.

Even when it was me.

Yeah Sapphire.mp3