Feckless Bastard
and someone's always quitting smoking
out of the restaurant in the cold, redfaced,
and the silver line is running nowhere
I want to go, no location to drift on
"In the morning, that smoke like a lazy dream,"
no, I won't give you any, but let's do keep
talking about your fucked up friend
for another half hour-- well, it's dull until
I start talking about him--feckless bastard,
yeah, some people just aren't in touch
with themselves I guess... I turn out not
to be a night bloom. All these corners
are stories I'm tamping down to keep it
from being ALL about me. Quiet, through
the mesh of drunk college kids. You hug me
goodbye. Okay, maybe one more. This place
isn't great but it's close. Is it surprise me time?
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