when I’m down
and I’ll fly up
like billowing dust
in the cold bitter wind
and blow in your face
again, and again

Kick me
to the curb
and I’ll disturb
your reverie
you’ll tangle
like a fishing line
and strangle yourself
on the gold braided twine

I’ve kicked
the habit
that was you
and put myself first
leaving you behind
like a *******
with brass
and no shine