Rings of coffee decorate the book of blue

Scribbles in its guts, rantings

Instructions on how to survive

Ink stains on my fingertips

Stark raving madness in their eyes

The door swings open

And a seat is pulled up for the broken:

Shards of whiskey tumbled stones

Bones coated in barleycorn syrup—

The door swings shut, never locked

Bears lap the honey from the runaway

Never mindful about not leaving teeth marks

More scars, more madness, less honey

For the Grace of Bob there goes I