Friday, November 11, 2005

The Year of Midnights

And I said
how dare you your blondeness
walk amongst the cake eaters
with dirty little clouds

Sex is a weapon, a WEAPON
because they don’t have this
they don’t have this
plastic skidrow headtrash

They’ve lost sight,
they’ve forgotten,
the many sitters in living rooms,
they’ve forgotten.

And I said
the only way your world moves
is an earthquake

And I said
they don’t understand
how close
is a soul
to pavement and night.

How dare the moon
skewer itself
on shattered bottles.

I’m going now,
and leaving pennies
on the tracks.

No comments: