Different plots in the garden

Part of the wheel barrow must be divided
yet still stay whole
No sense in pushing it in two directions
both sides of your head baldness running down the middle

of men like us

Here´s a hotel, here´s a garden
what´s left to contemplate
No sense in getting lost in thought
mad tears your worst enemy

falling from eyes stuck in our concrete heads

We could share the spider
You take four
and I´ll take the other four
we´ll split it somewhere above the abdomen

Fangs and all my friend

Because part of the wheel barrow needs to be shared
and there´s enough room for material dreams
in ticket stamps you may collect before the bucket bounces
But leave enough room for the compost

Because we´ll both be in the ground, life at the bottom is rough
Death is no more than a fancy epitaph