you're drinking cold coffee from 6am. it's a punch injection to this deflated day. and still you're stuck in blurry scenes about him, his sisters, wondering if the connection is through regret. when you're deep under, you reach for the line, when you're alive you cut that string. want no part of yesterday's madness, grumbling past the painted desert, underneath tequila sun.

there was no return address, no lifeline, no contact. just memories riding on catchy tunes. bouncing along like cowboys on a fucken rocky road. you can't paste on what wasn't there, the thoughtful conversations and laughter, the mutual respect. no. it was a long slow ripping, body parts here and there, the smashing of hope and possibility with all the used up marlboro light cigarettes- wimpy self-kill attempts.

i know it. i'll record it. i feel it in the air. how you're looking for an easy out, to turn another corner, find her standing there. crumple up yesterday, pretend that it's not there. open the door like dorothy, find color waiting there. pretend to kill desire, sever its searching head. but electricity is hitching a ride on every molecule heading south of poughkeepsie on it's way to phil-a-del-phia...