Thoughts on Coming Home.

I could imagine you,
Picking bones alone!
By your TV satellite,
Counting off, to your days circa home!

In this foreign waste, land of ignorance!
Catch the crowd in you eyes tonight,
making love, to your impotence!

And if eyesight was some dream, have reasoned your right to speak?
And if it's manic self-remorse were your manners left to breathe?

I couldn't picture you,
Picking bones alone!
By your worn-in paperback,
candlelight, circa manic poems!

In this fucked up town, savvy words a thrift!
Catch the crowd in your eyes tonight,
making love, to your impotence!