You speak to me in confidence
But I don't think you know me.
You've misjudged me.

But I know your footsteps,
the size ten shuffle,
and you have a 
particular way of
climbing stairs.  You 
used to have wild hair,
and it's growing back
now, I can tell.

I have moral objections.
You climb stairs all right,
it's just the door 
at the top of those 
stairs; lots of people 
come through that door,
I know, don't have to tell.

And I think to leave you
Bible verses, anonymously, 
of course; but I'd have 
to get myself a Bible first.

God damn it. I'll watch
you come, watch your 
friends go, and
I'll even chance to
see your shuffle slow, but  

Inspired by the bright 
colors of Mexico you'd
smiled your hermetical blue
Epiphany all around you.

You said you wanted only 
three things from life: 
"pot, alcohol, and food."

Bible verses!  Licking
flames of hell on earth!
Sweet something!  
But all I could do was
Smile back: You're my brother.