the cigarette ash that dropped
between the keys
is the better poem
the dark figure i pass in my car
w/the hood on, walking w/a twelve pack
at midnight is the better poem
the sleeping cat w/her back to me
w/relaxed & un-pricked ears
is the better poem
the cherry blossoms on tips of branches
against the cloudless blue sky
is the better poem
all the men spending their first night
in their graves is the better poem
but this second hand shit
these lines will have to fucking do...