The paper-airplane smog hanging over my noose sent me into convulsions on the right side of youth. The recycled thoughts coming out of the clouds became movie-script endings and Indian mounds. And it came without warning and some broken bones a losing lottery ticket and reminders of home. Oh, but the winter chill sinks into my bones like Ebbot’s Pond absorbing stones that we’ve thrown. And she rains when her eyes cloud up and she’s saved from how life ends up when you’re all alone. Cigarette smoking in a hundred degrees and a leper sees your heart says “it’s still a disease”. Take away the romance in the end of your days, it’s just a long holiday at the bottom of Fire Lake. So, I’ll wait for the engine to turn off all the lights, become a secondary character and fade out of sight. Oh, but the winter chill sinks into my bones like Ebbot’s Pond absorbing stones that we’ve thrown. And she rains when her eyes cloud up and she’s saved from how life ends up when you’re all alone.