I rode down to the tracks.
  Thinking they might sing to me.
  But they just stared back.
  Broken, trainless and black as night.
  Climbed out onto my roof.
  So I'd be a poet in the night.
  Beat the walls off my room.
  I saw the big room that is this life.
  This is my condition:
  Naked and hysterical,
  Reaching to grab a hand
  that I just slapped back at.
  This is my condition:
  Desperate, alone,
  Without an excuse.
  I try to explain. Christ, what's the use?
  Read and I felt so small.
  Some words keep speaking
  When you close the book.
  Drank and just about smiled.
  Then I remembered us in that bed.
  Put my ear to the door.
  I just heard hot rods
  and gunshots and sirens.
  People kill me these days.
  There's keys in their eyes
  But they lock from the inside.