Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Poem For Bobby

you don’t know how precious a stool is until the road crew brings you one.

you don’t know why all these people are in your living room.

you don’t know how it feels to be me.

you don’t know where garcia is.

you don’t know how you knew that if you ever collapsed onstage that phil would just keep singing, but you were right.

you don’t know how bitcoin works and, quite frankly, don’t wish to know.

you don’t know how easy it is to love you.

you don’t know if the doctor said one pill every four hours or four pills every hour so NOM NOM NOM PILLS YAY GO SLEEP NOW KTHXBAI.

you don’t know where that highway leads to.

you don’t know what happened to the rest of your pants.

you don’t know how hard it is to love you.

you don’t know the way to minglewood.

you don’t know the way to el paso.

you don’t know the way to mexicali.

you don’t know the way back to new york city, but i do believe you’ve had enough.

1 Comment

  1. I know the “back way” into San Jose though. Nobody lives there. Forget it…

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