Days spent like welfare stamps
stretching out on unlit candles
these silent roads
where throw away people walk

Hope is a masochistic exercise
labor handed with a head full of intellectual nonsense
the curve of a steel pipe
so eloquent,
the running of muscles playing with sun and sweat

Easy to whisper of dreams
when Daddy calls on Sunday

Reaching to horizons
where Earth mates with sky
so blatantly, mocking what you
scarred from seedy survival
will never be soft enough to recieve

There,
where all your dreams live
between the heavy bodies

Gravities a bitch.