Remembering Francis

I picture you all alone at your table.
I picture you, a single horse in the stable.
Fire from your nose,
And all the urgencies
From the race in your mind.
From the mouth of my petulence
You are born
And quickly fly off the wheel again,
But death lies loose on the backs of the disturbed.
Sipping at your coffee; the drink of all your thoughts.
And what such thoughts would make a drink
That having could have not?
Filterless cigarettes whimper in the tray.
Your stained, river fingers draw them on with disarray.
Well I have warned you twice old man,
If again you piss anywhere but in the can
I'll make that coffee fly out of your hand,
The cup be up your ass.