I’ve been rich in disaster,

the kind that breathes but doesn’t move

when you bend the knee, to sit,
and lower your bottom half,

the switch is hit, and

violent musk fills the room

and then there is nothing, but you, and it

your sympathy, and eye lids

wincing and waking open, 
to watch the trees grow

the sun toss coins,

and the bulb wane,
and wax

but, still, time does not exist here

I’ve been rich in disaster,

and have saved many men

pumping silver into a juke-box to play 

the same three songs

"i'll tell you everything about being free"

but only when IT comes to Susanne, him and you

you can only hold so many pebbles, when it comes to me