slag heap cowboys on drugs with a hunch
shaked in love mixed with coal, debris, cargo trains and funk
fly high on cracked concrete carpet above skewed chimneys
with an average speed of casual sunset
throwing butts, smoked
with no idea how to match their lives 
patterns etched in rugged urban tissue
by shady sins of omission

podnoszę rękę do twarzy i widzę tylko dwa palce
resztę znalazłem po chwili schowaną w garści