Volume turned up

Bus stop tuned out

Caffeine on this bench

O, what a wretch!

Every computer is full,

Full of the flesh, full of eyes

And those half naked pages—

Who’s worse—the sinner under the

Tower or the coward as the star of the

Church? What is worse—living with just

Breath or dying so you may live without

It really sticking?

Freeway lover,

Backseat worker you were,

Telling me how to live, how to drive

And how to love you better—

Summers have never faded,

Humid was always placated

By those drive through days—

Those pop songs I made you listen

To! I am too looking for the filler,

Looking for a thriller, looking for a

Lovesick killer—threaded at noon,

Thick was the kick that made me me

Never shave those eyebrows again—

Never look like that faceless man again—

Volume still up,

Bus city tuned out—

Bus pass for you to pass me—

I am the fragrance that follows me—

Made its way into this head and now

We are making it better each day—

Let love be the best part of the weather