When I bow, I just bow
Tied, victorious.  Knowing that
I talk to myself
Feeling the air against my chest
Whispering to the world
The sky...the sky...the
Sky is dead against a black night

His picture's in my pocket
Jack, full of misery.  Night
Time wanderings always lead back
Here.  A pool of vile vomit
A mixture of love gone bad and
Love.  Pure.

And then the trench coat.  His
Fist clenched in his pocket.
Brushing up against tall
Buildings...Lonely beings shrouded
In concrete.  Made by creatures with
Noses & hair thrown about
Wildly like a fire that never sleeps.