Who's at the gate? It doesn't matter so I buy American Spirits, I smoke half, and I give half away. I am judged, and I judge freely. I am swallowed by the fat of jealousy. I make assumptions, I am assumed. I study your media as you study mine. I am your ghost. I jingle silver bullets in my slacks pockets. There is a constant science to the distance between us. There is a constant sentinel for this tireless desire. For one year, I await you at the gate. I might wait forever, and I should not. You are the only one I ever really write for: Everything you hear is yours.
Check out "Soma Pop" by N! (Carney)