Linger, Lady Monologue, I found a match for your words. solo split to stereo delivers peace out the burbs. Fingers strummed departure sounds, then ran them through neon hairs. I'd have loved to come around You rode them restfully there. Last train to Berkeley, stoke the dealers' trade, You're bound to your industry, your bronze and light rail. Saints pull me over, draw from the shade The imprint of roses and their meanings unveiled. Who collects from whom Coaches' brokeback room Crown-handlers down the mudslide. The faults, the border, the coming of age The domes, the glitter, the copper and rage. The mistrial, the burnout the sleeper's delay, The ground determines who goes and who plays. Spring restores my faith in shuteye. Dream of factory shores. Bill collectors' panicked bullseye, blood on every door. Arid shelters, disillusion, rhythms drone unbid. Though her cover song was soothing, this is what she did. Stole my pen, wrote her letter. Matchsticks on the tray. Sleepless doubts, dirty dishes, eyes closed, wide awake. Time for a day and I'm still laid here. Nights, and I count the roads to sleep. Soup in the pantry, my old grey suit, Time for a drink, and make it cheap, An empty shell of stone, welcome to your home. Nothing promised but an absence