i'm tired of being an interlude,
the down-beat fill in an
arpeggio'ed a-minor chord;
resonant only in a
dark sky filled with a lone star.
only shimmering through
the exhale of cigarette smoke.
i know i grow weary-
minding the fact-
though heart still loves,
will break

i do a lot of thinking in life,
writing and singing through
and out of c chords, (don't forget the sixth)
resounding with their
own dimly light evenings.
cover your ear listener!
we'll exhale and ideas
will fall from our mouth shrieking,
like feedback from the distortion;
Her nails dug into my back
what a lovely cadence
we'll make.

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