| Rain goes perfect | |
| with a Nosdam mixtape. | |
| The last streetlights | |
| stay on well after dawn. | |
| Kings fall to fawns-- | |
| He dropped the needle, | |
| let the song say it. | |
| The kind of morgue with a | |
| gong to tell you when; | |
| but the room's rules bend | |
| and the staff will make you laugh. | |
| My dad wore this face in old photographs. | |
| Calico cats out stare me from | |
| behind a junkyard fence. | |
| High on Khat, I let my stare | |
| go soft, but pretend it's not. | |
| When I'm eyed, I tongue my bottom teeth | |
| and look at the sidewalk in front of me | |
| as my tennis shoes go | |
| in and out of the frame. | |
| Another sleuth-fooled empty 'Y' | |
| walking on goose eggs in the mission | |
| swap-meet, brown, '31', fishnet | |
| hat cocked to the right. | |
| I only played chess once in my life, | |
| and I lost. | |
| Looks like a sky | |
| for shoeing horses under. | |
| Looks like a good sky | |
| to die under. |
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