Occasionally, odds and ends occur, often registered memories sometimes straying into sight again. The Usual Suspects expresses a series of disjointed tendrils that recurring somehow seem to shape together in old familiar views.

The Usual Suspects

Death is what we have left

we don’t even know who the pop stars are.

Heroes choose it, cowards lose it

we just don’t know 

’til the threshold’s crossed.

           
 I like to walk and smoke

it’s sort of like balancing

the tightrope of life.

Smoking’s bad for you

walking’s good.

Most of the people I hate

I never met. I want reason

to love everyone I hate

to talk to them

on the street, the sidewalk

About their kids, the weather

the things we do together

of how they outweigh

the things we think

apart.