Strange pets in a blanket then floating three feet above a rainy curb.
Where we become phone mentors and stubble confidants
We fly higher than the biting birds in black and white we can't remember.
Hey, hell, I've had enough and you too are on a never satisfied kick.
Stream me, it is me, me to you who fits a tattered coat on a stick.
Flick and feel outside, left in the dark triumphs of sitting still,
Still despite all the odds against hair of the dog reminder.
Reminded of a forward motion's serene changlessness