Asa Phelps Is Dead

hey brother can you spare a dime

skin and bones that's melting in a backwards way to grow

out of heart and out of mind

snd kiss me in the rearview when you go



dying at twenty-three, i'm trying on my apathy

with a tired conversation floating in this ether sky

tried again too many times, and doesn't it get worse

sit and stare



seems like we're running out of dimes

bodies that we burn as fuel, irreversible decline

pocket lint and turpentine

warm my insides, wash these ashes from my eyes

death with an attitude, i'm putting on my sunday suit

tired as a conversation held one too many times

a year or two or three or ten or twenty more

waiting