some days i stand on the black top of the roof
and nail my feet in place
and try and see the giant boot that says boots in neon.
which is the sign for a country and western dance bar
that has gone under.
when i go to sleep standing up i wake up
laying in a topless box that smells like cedar
and whose sides look exactly like the pylons
under the fort washington train station,
where all the concrete looks like wood paneling
and they lower this box down and load it full of dirt
and as it fills my mouth i think about all the places
where our sweatshirts didn’t do us no good,
and how there will be more room for baggage now.
lord knows they love that.