again again the dime lands on its edge
and still the brain means nothing to it.
aching as it is, it goes on and on and on and on
with what it says
as you come to, still running from
a son a son a son who thieves
a you yet to come.

throw up your hands - where's your children?
i'll bet you this place - left at home.
can't even stand - where's your mother?
the look on its face - all alone.

throw up your hands - where's your lover?
broken in haste - yet unknown.
just as planned - with another
nothing to waste - on my own.

another word you always use
like the sky, like the sky does its blue
only who looks up to see the seagull the crow
the hot water bottle?

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