Me and my Bobby McGee
If the name had been Teddy Gowers
Would it have been us and ours.
All this convenience would also spoil love
If love weren’t such an easy thing
Good enough for whatever

A sour jibe at crows mayhaps
The danger grows perhaps
Otherwise why these ominous signs
In the dead hours
As a brooding still murder
On a wire out in the winter night

But buzzing gay in my animal planet
Are mosquitoes as me they devour
And their immense grace would make me consider them my family etc
Since they let me dwell on their life’s work while I’m dying
If they weren’t so bloody irritating

Cigarette calls from the depth of the soul
I’m not that well kept and I wonder
What if I were to tear all asunder
And call myself sikander
Hephaestion’s butt whose fury fed