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.