To console the inconsolable numbness, I collect 
Earthworms and gravel in this graveyard’s soil.

I hold the grieving stones in my mouth
And let the sounds be my words of sorrow.

I loose myself thinking of our concrete cartoon passings.
Marvelous dreams happen in drawn nothing memories.

At the lonely end of the wooden bar at the great whisky a-go-go
Don't come the old boy scout at me sunshine; come have a drink!

Get out your black silks and a smile; 
I told you, I would love going to his funeral.