(crash in verse)

My brain is a million bricks crashing through the back of the last dream i remembered green eyes more than heritage, soft hearts held faster than hope and the pursed lips of a stranger reminding me of all i miss.

I'm tired of fucking being here.

Tired, already, of hearing the fractured stories of a dying man (in pounds and hours now) trying to catch up on all the years we spent far the fuck away mining my own life in the niche of new york city while he fell in love and lost his mind and wound up here the fuck in texas.

It's all too much to relate this late, still settling in for another few days.

But, suffice it to say, i feel like a fucking bastard because i'm not, nor will i ever be, the son he needs. the one he wants. the comrade in arms to shoot the shit and carry his family seed into the future. the boy he threw catch with. the one who speaks fondly of him as he does of me.

I just can't.

It's too late.

And every moment i think we're finally happy. getting along all peach and keen he lands up on my mother again. or his. or something suitably awkward to ward of any chance of me responding anything but politely.

It's fucking hard, you know. harder than i imagined it would be.

Thank god, then for cats like mitzi. rocker chicks who remind us that in the endless spin of these late mornings, there's always wisdom to find a smirk in.