wondered if there was anything pure
in running out
into the rain
to start a fight and
lose, obviously
but i wanted it more than anything -
wanted the skin on my hands
to break
my eyes to
and to look up into the face
of some greater lover a
in a brave new world
where the young
kill the young
to survive
and the old
don't stand much chance at all.
there's a peace to be found
in defeat
in the stained concrete
at the roadside
in the view
from the gutter
there's such melancholia
it's a disease now
for the wealthy and the wise.

an english child inside
with lime in his
still sucking at the teat
where does it end?
when the candles burn low and the
beer runs thin
from the tap?
when his feet swing from the rafters
like a compass?

i made vague plans to
better myself
to try more things
i listened to motown records and
drove great distances
in the night
but even the drink never
gave me the courage or the
to start that fight.

love is a dog from hell.

I thought that the entire first part of the first stanza should have been lines running longer, and then start breaking down at "there's a peace to be found". I've just seen you do these structures over and over again, these line breaks just always break the same way. Even when they shouldn't.

But then the rest of the piece felt beautifully decadent like it should, and though it was nothing new from you, I felt, it was still comforting like a favourite drink, when you don't feel like trying anything new. It's my favourite for a reason.
This is not a pipe