I’ve seen your money on the floor.
I’ve felt the pocket change, though all
the feelings that broke through that door
just didn’t seem to be too real.
The yard is nothing but a fence.
The sun just hurts my eyes,
somewhere it must be time for penitence.
Gardening at night has never worked.
Here’s a picture of me with REM.
That’s me in the corner.
Dave Thompson Chronic town. Poster torn. Reaping wheel.
you keep picking things that this part of the internet doesn’t see