A Word About Everything

I remember having a beer once 

And feeling like a minor god 

And I know in some lie you told 

Your life began making sense 

And I also know that the mind likes logic 

But the heart loves chaos 

I just hope flies land on the butter of your soul 

And become butterflies 

And I hope up to 8 hoboes 

Attend your funeral 

But oh, the way that barista looked at that girl 

Wearing no bra, with this fine line between 

Lust and hate, then looked abruptly away 

But then took yet another 

Smoldering glance 

And I too saw the naked 

Shadows inside her dress