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 form 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, and tripped into
the guestroom.