Where now?
Like its I'm spat out in some later reality of warm winters and the forest growth of nasal hair. Where am I now? Where are my friends and all that came before? Likesome Ryvita horizon done in crabgreen and wet paper; like some rusty windblown swingset or clovergrown sandpit; like some low sunangle afternoon in a winter beachtown or the sound of restaurant hoovers before closing; like I am here to smell life's ashtray and taste its saltsweat guitar amp bar rill residue. Wher now my friends?