christmas, almost
out on my porch
kind of cold for california, but
i'm out here every night
sucking on that last cigarette
i've come to enjoy these palm-trees
better in the dark
and the two black men that are slowly passing by
one always talking
about things i don't know
the other listening, like me
trying to understand
his voice reminds me of a book i once read
but the moon distracts me
from remembering it's name
right now it feels like i've always been happy
but i know that can't be true
i wonder if the moon can hear us howling
so does the men, talking
gone in the dark
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