each man must realize
that it can all dissappear very
quickly.
the dog, the girl, the job
the front fuckin' tire.
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our "necessities
includin' love,
rest on foundations of sand-
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a whore on the lower east side
or a blizzard in Omaha...
can be your undoin'.
all your chinaware crashin' to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter,
and you'll be standin', drunk,
in the middle of it, and she'll say
"my god...whats the matter?"
and you'll answer; "i don't know...
I don't fucking know?"
