cobblestone raze this is the year i'll forget how to wipe my own ass. but my hands and my face are clean, and this is what they carry: green shorts with a tag that digs too deep into me, that has too much to say, that won't be silenced until i strip myself bare and study the marks that have been made. map to a place i'll never visit. wires to force my wandering teeth back into a state of grudging servitude. impressions of a ruined mountain. now dynamite my life apart. wet and warm at the foot of a bed that isn't mine, that won't ever hold me while i sleep, watching a television set as small as my head as it rests on a dresser that's taller than i am. the rodeo cowboy gets the girl, but he dies at the end, gored by an animal bred to hate every man it meets. you read me kurt cobain's suicide note over the phone, and i wonder what it must be like to fail to find a reason to live while looking into the eyes of a child who won't own a single memory of you after you blow a hole through the back of your head, who'll only know your face from pictures and video footage. a good humor strawberry shortcake ice cream bar is just a trail of cobblestones soft enough to eat. i don't think i could set foot on a path that cold. but i want to try. 220123 what's it to you? who go blather from