fingers. - there was a bible of sorts re-written titled "Someday" inspirational piece gave hope the day you woke up told yourself "i know what he needs" you, were wrong we are the people that have never been loved: never been known only shards of appreciation, sometimes skin-deep sometimes the words that exit but if the reason were to surface why exumed why public why writ the formula has been simple it is (was) always a need remember how you breathe, compare it's our incommen(ness) and you jump qick to blame a pedastol but pedastols aren't important only words meticously placed, sporatic, caustic, they've always slept under our rail-tracks And they are ghosts. souls that sometimes wear costumes spirits that mock, in the right spot i wrote beside the gulf of mexico, cancer tropics and it didn't matter even though i was fixing for a "moment" even though i could inhale the time perfect moments should have been in my fingers.