The Soprano forgets her god a
Drunken thumb homage to large eyes
And stranded years traipsing through
and what fine looking evenings they were.
Remember the foul fog, the key to the grave?
Wisdom travels alongside custom
A clever idiot puzzling over a misremembered joke
Another vacant indication, hung on wires, raised to some discreet heaven.
A tribute paid in smoke that chains you to the years
The grass will one day marry the sky, but for now,
Like Drunks they tell a story when asked for a name.