talking to myself

San Francisco, California

stiff steel revolver of loaded questions,
one and again,
biting dust and dirt,
while continually calculating self worth,
keep trying for those answers kid,
something's gotta give,
either the foothold or the brainfold,
cause there's a window open,
all the way up there in the heaven sulk sky,
me and my acrylic breath,
noticing that every little light lamp poking through the fog-
looks just like a halo,
we -
look just like a halo