The last thought that you think today Has already happened The link between profound and pain Covers you like Sherwin Williams

The smokey joe is broken Drops into your lap And the big red wasp Makes a scan through My black pages

Last night our boy was out there Burning up his matches I saw him in the afternoon Sporting a black eye

The universal man Holds a pistol or a bottle Types with confidence As we grow out of our Bruises

Once I had a friend Who had the knack of tossing His mind around geography Boy you think, you have problems

The hunter is asleep At least that's what I call him In the afternoon Of the new cobweb Summer