I burnt her there the dark haired one on a can She was the last to go my favorite one The night still young she was the one the last one I held I grasped her till the end fell near Now I can say "I'm shit outta beer"
He's become comfortable
in that
ol' civil war jacket.
What would compliment
that mess of hair?
A sage cigarette,
a bottle in his hand
and a book in his pocket.
A hobo at heart
a drunk by night
and a rambling pain.
Tired and old
before his time.
Studying the greats
Bukowski, Tom Waits
William S. Burroughs
and Hunter S. Thompson,
Kerouac and John Steinbeck.
Drinking Brandy
and Cockspur rum
from the bottle.
Hiding down South
for the winter months
running from the cold
and consequence.
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