City slickers born to tumble
will never make your mountain rumble,
take me to the parts that matter
in amongst the titter tatter
the coffee table ilks and dramas
cotton caftans and silk pyjamas
humming cars that cough and splutter
silver coins lost in the gutter
tabloid men in sharp pressed suits
trample down the fallen fruits
nothing sacred in this old town
except a peptic ulcer and a furrowed frown.

When did i become so
Complacent
So content with where I am
When I shouldn't be
My passion has died
The embers slowly fading
And with no one to light them but myself
Who knows if that flame will rise again
I want to burn for something
Someone
Myself
For what I love
What do I love
I need to be fanned, fed and set on fire

I don't know if I can feel love anymore.
I know that there's many people who care a lot about me,
but I don't know where the warm fuzzy feeling in my chest went.
I only feel pain.
I only feel my ghosts replace the air in my lungs with poison,
as they curl up inside me, so I can't breathe.

I don't know if I can feel relaxed anymore.
I know there are times where I'm not completely tense,
but I don't know how to relax my shoulders,
because they're always tensed up to protect me.
I only feel anxiety gripping me tighter everyday.
I only feel fuzzy, not in my heart, but in my head.

I don't know what happened to the good feelings,
because all I feel is pain.

He made the stairs up from the yard,
Without falling even once.
Entered the house with a feeble little
skip and a bound of renewed energy,
Wagging his long crooked tail,
wearing the shaggy faded yellow
coat of an aged Labrador.
Loose skin and bone where once firm
muscles shown.
Nearly blind and fully deaf he still managed
to grab up an unclaimed tennis ball from
off the floor. Tooth and gummed it a few times
then flopped down on his rug, exhausted and spent.  
Sixteen summers and winters lived,
Loving companion, faithful friend,
Raising my grandsons to the ages of seven and ten,
Slept by their beds and protected them.

The mobile Vet has come, it's the needle not the gun.
I can not attend, too soft of heart,
I've buried too many canine friends.
My son is stoic, tending to what must be done,
But later alone, he will grieve and weep as I have done,
He is after all his father's son.

Rest in Peace Bennie you brought our family much joy.

I kissed the boy who tasted like cigarettes
I held his hand and felt like fire
and in my recklessness
I was pleased with myself like I was the one
who smoked instead of
breathing second hand kisses
I was pleased like I was the one he
put to his mouth and lit
he sheltered from the wind
and let burn so close to him

it felt familiar like home,
where smoke dusted the walls
and the inside of my family's lungs
where smoke left its imprint in that
same scent on his lips
and in my nostalgia I found myself
comfortable like I was the one
who smoked instead of
stealing second hand kisses
I was safe like I was the one he
packed away tight
took care to light
and held as long as he could

I put out fires by drowning them
in my demons but this one won't be
so easily extinguished since my demons
started burning out themselves
and in my recovery I found myself peaceful
like I was the one who smoked instead of
wishing for second hand kisses
I was still like I was the one he
handled like glass
craved in the night
and ****** dry

I kissed the boy who tasted like cigarettes
and he set me on fire.
I tasted the boy who kissed cigarettes
and he took me by surprise
but all along I was only borrowing
his second hand kisses.