Hard days these old friend
my head's fever burns
like the black crumpled end
of a paper match
and moves through my body like that band of flame

the same
is there nothing but this pain and fire
something must be left see that
smoke still floats to a humble bend
I'll start over

--Mr. Bones you sure slip
then let the boats get off the bank
before you swap
jump ship
the water don't care it'll blend

Copyright © Cy Dillon, 2000.  All Rights Reserved.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

NEXT PAGE