Roe Three

Love holds the door ajar, my hair falls down unkind, nowhere gets me very far, I sit on a high stool, drink a little wine, who needs more bad news, you ask about my Ma, Oh she’s fine, wades a little through tar, the money blew, in a poor easy light, how many other fools, cruise in her fast car, knock around her lies, no wonder I’m scarred, is there something cool, to crush the hurt inside, find that other part of you, maybe it’s from afar, that sees each morning rise, constant as the northern star, I count my time.