the sounds of winter float in from the distant past, when there were… others
in autumn silence what wasn’t comes to new life and i inhale lies
worn out compressor a crummy chair and the world’s last copy of DOS
in the future i will write meaningful poems about purple rooms
i can’t afford this maybe you can, i don’t know — invite me over?
cigar smoke stale past gentlemen gathered here to tell lies and drink well
the stage has been set a journey through the seasons one room at a time
all that time skating forward balance kept leaning gliding frustration