what tragic evening of what the fuck are you looking at
what a beautiful meal of looking isn’t giving
and giving isn’t so much as fucking
you and the way you smile at me as i sing away
any what? you say
but tonight i am before you
and i let you tell me goodbye
and goodnight
nothing more than a block of wood
to be chipped away at
to be carved in the image of another
to be shaved down to nothing
and to be left to the weather
to accumulate dust and mites
to be shaped by the wind and soil
and then to disappear back into the earth
to be forgotten
like a tree
like a heart
like another love
zebrasindenver 