Maybe I’ll sit where you told me to

Maybe the grass will hold my

Back

The shirt stretched thin high

Maybe you’ll kiss him

His pulled cheeks

Maybe I’ll see the bobbing

Shoulder

Maybe you’ll moan

Maybe his face with

Cold leper

Maybe I’ll freeze to death

Maybe the milk haze

Washes away from my

Eye

And the smell of gasoline

Cut grass

And the sound of God in my head

Will be fresh

 Maybe I'll kill myself

Maybe the thin bar

of a sunset in the north

in the middle of the night

on the mountain 

will back the slow sound

of a gentle metal 

in the middle of the night

in the middle of red paint

and the glowing city lights

the spinning valley 

maybe you'll kiss me

maybe I'll freeze to death