den trawler
the spinanes

shaking towards shelter and vodka on ice
looking for words to "auld lang syne"
god grant us grace in working the room
god grant me patience caught in his sight
god grant me patience to just make it

cock-tailed
money maker

ice breaking

your tongue
so close to torture
with everything it seeks
an empty-handed breeze
an empty head it grabs at
as if it could be real
you say you'll leave it up to me
and i can't stand to hear you speak
or to listen to you sleep