blurred images of a thousand dead me
make this focal point
I didn't mean it, she misunderstood
really, I am worth loving
the old souls all say to me – what is your part?
And there, behind the fog, is the friend who always is
All my pains converge at the edge of my skin
this city presses in upon my throat
get this fist out of my mouth
out of my mouth
There is too much here to hold or say
I am we am all
here where the dust leaks
where the wind demands a parched speech
where this body disperses
Inhale my vaporous death
Respire what could have been
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