How much have we given?
If the mattress were burning and the streets were swept in chaos,
and this desert once again became disserted and dry,
How much would we have to show?
How long would we run together until our hands became a burden?
How long could you really keep up?
When the chips get too close to the felt and the waitress forgets what we’ve been drinking.
When the days are gloomy inside and the sun is an enemy of emptiness.
When the showers become beds and the floors become dressers.
When the phone calls are questions and pickups are the closest things to answers you’ll ever find.
How much would we have given when we finally say it’s enough?
When we say it’s too much?
I hope, my dear,
that it’s never enough.
I hope.
I can only hope.
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