nineteen years just old enough to think you ve seen it all this stop sign s an undramatic curtain call a collection of all my fears collecting thoughts i caught my breath in a newer knapsack to salvage what was left of you i packed my things and carried them home and then i carried you home safety surrounds me in late light security a vision quest on city streets obscuring where the city sleeps all night the headlights don t work this time the headlights are held on the turn signal s swan song i sold your things to call up a cab and you picked up the tab 300 bucks your body s on the trunk engine is locked the rope is in the trunk i counted backwards i counted hours i counted ways to pick your frame apart