Sell the old hammer and torches,
there is nothing left to fix and nothing left to burn.
Forget all the times I saw the spiders courting flies,
into comfortable beds, with luring smiles.

I am nothing more than recycled glass.
Stomped out and refurbished to take a new shape.
Only it is less convincing then my last.

Oh pretty puppet with fishing lines for guidance,
Do you know what dance you do?
Do you dance what dance you want?
Your feet cant even step out a square, let alone walk a mile.

I thank the New York lights for injury.
I love the New Jersey banks for growth.
If I wanted to be something more than just this I could,
but this bottle says I don't.

One day this place will look as brilliant as I planned.
One day the jackhammers will stop screaming.
The old men who restlessly work will die and so will I.
There might be a party throw in my honor or maybe not.
Perhaps, maybe, rocks can replace my organs to help me sink?
If there has ever been a time to start wishing,
I wish you would.

The salt water that lives in each and every pour has fermented,
and is starting to call me back.
With a heavy grin I want to wander right into her arms,
listless and without thought.
Can each grain of sand actually be more meaningful than the other?
Once wet they grab at each other like victims in a storm,
hoping that they might not be asked out to sea.
The choice is neither theirs nor mine,
nor his or hers,
in fact it's no ones.