These are
the hands
When you cant get much lower
You want
to build a ship
To sink
Rocks in your pockets One for each sin
That you forgot to cross your fingers for
The tin man
Invented the snow flake
Huffin the silver stuff
On the back of a city bus
I want to hitchhike
In dark desolate areas
And
I feel like a bar fight
I think I knew from a very young age that these
would be the hands of either a writer
or a killer
and I still think I should have taken the easy
road.
