Page 50
By Jack Joseph Smith
Leaving
If ever you must go
When the strain has that tug
Then A split in the heart
To be killed and killing on your way
Like lousy language crumbling with all that you believe
A thumb to the eye adjusting to the romantic
Simple as a bus ticket and complicated as a bus station
Or to be evidently and catch a ride and get aquainted
And of course it is not sucide and someone else's grief
That let's the truth into,
right now you have not come back