these, the things nearest to me lately

musty incense, a glass of port
and an eighth an ounce of pot

hannah and i sit on the carpet
and roll joints all evening long

playing with my cat and talking
about lovers

we're both fresh out
and thank god for that

i have my picture of brian jones
and am more involved
in a sort of lazy shrine-worship

than anything else

my hometown is beginning to feel
like a hometown

where you grow up but not where you live

a teabag run out and dry
or some fruit barren of seeds

time i think
to seek new stomping grounds