there's nothing left to say

and the bagman falls away
lonely cold and blue-bell flesh,
for a funeral pyre,
it's pretty wet.
so friend, got a light?

we scattered our problems
in central park,
steelworks and skyscrapers and
back home, longview
for your troubles and my headphones
overflow with sine cosine
tangential to the point
but i lack reasoning, i guess

to make this work out in the end.

i'm getting tired of funerals
that aren't mine.
(who's game for soup and hot chocolate?)