Title Track

Left uninspired by the crust of railroad earth that touched

the lead to the pages of your manuscript.

I took my thumb off the concrete and saved up all my

strength to hammer pillars for a picket fence.

It wasn't quite what is seemed: a lack of pleasantries

(my able body isn't what it used to be)

I must admit I was charmed by your advances:

your advantage left me helplessly into you.



Talking how the group had begun to splinter and I could

taste your lipstick on the filter...



I tried my best to keep my distance from your dress

but call-response overturns convictions every time.

My memory cannot recall: a wave of alcohol we shared

a cigarette and shaved the hours off.



Lushing with hallway congregation, my best judgment

signed its resignation



I rushed this. We moved too fast, trips into

the guestroom.