Abecedarian

Abecedarian for Silver Hammers

Brevity is not the most
cautious thing you carry.
Deep beneath your wool coat,
eaten by moths and the mayhem we wreck,
fucked up in blizzards from beer we found in your
garage, you carry the lyrics you cut out of your
heated skin.
I warn you that we're
just like we always said we'd be,
kept up during the night, because
lack of sleep and an aversion to the
morning remind us we were
never cut
out for this world.
Probably for the best that we
quit our dreams, let our callouses
recede, and forget that
sounds and songs were supposed to
take us everywhere
under the earth and stone. Now, we
vomit in bathtubs, pick and break at
wicker strings, break the
xylophone we swore we'd use in our last album.
You look at me and say, the
zest for this we once had, man, where the fuck did it go?