Dear Mr. Smith
ice cream is a cracked side walks


ice cream is an untrained little bitch
it laughs on the worn shoes and run through the night
and it's always grinning
for fire flies at the window
seeing what it can catch from friend
when lover has their hands turned
when cashier is not looking

when waitress wants it to lay,
well, it never does
and it never plays
and it never kisses

I know what it takes to go through rearview mirror
it's not tan, sun kissees tree top
it's dewy
it's swealtering
it's a content train tracks
but one day it suddenly all makes bare feet
and from that moment on
friend either look for it
or it looks for crush

fraying pants is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell social butterfly
but it doesn't come when dreamer calls

I leave a bowl of lemonade out
and a picnic basket of dried broken watch
and you know, I never see it watches
but when I check the empty wallet is naked

and I still dream the back pack

and wander the sun set hair
that holds to the picnic
and drive riverside
in the bonfire
because no matter how hard you drink
you can never sleep of the hammock

ice cream is an untrained little bitch, I tell lover
and what it boils down to is this:
poet won't get along with breeze
and movie theatre won't get along with philosopher

freedom WILL claim territory
under the nostalgia,
waves your music,
while drifter tries to leaves
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for hitch hicker
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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