death, john, and angie, were in an akward stance
on the foot steps of my building, i was watching with mint tea
as a third wheel was unveiling the foot-over-foot plea
for the impossible extension of the ephemeral chance
two new lovers were evolving through the vines of six new hands
now here i was in blissful comfort of a freshly lit cigar
emersed in the tragic tension of a choking unlocked car
as the warn-out childhood psyche battled the bleak hope of cheap romance
but my eyes grew uninspired by the sad familiar brawl
and i returned to my unwashed cup, sipping the remains of sugary tea
studying the history of urine spread along my apartment wall
where i could show the tourists all the dullness in the world they have not seen
and an asian lady would stop me before closing in the museum stall
with a desperate need of knowing all i knew of the magestic urine tree