Monday, March 13, 2006

learning to live leaning back on my heels

It's not every night you see
the moon flying low and fast
knocking off tv antennas
and I must be half way
fallen down because

that knocked me to the ground
and I thought I had
spun myself silly
but I cut myself off
so no more spitting in your dust
and no more burning out
my retinas staring too long.
fuck your explosions
and everything that melts around you

I could be a bus driver
with an heart of gold
and shoelaces to match
and you could be criminally insane
and we would part company
over coal black coffee
sitting amongst smudged out sailors
and bankers on brunch,
vicous like fire ants

tell me I've got beautiful index fingers
and maybe I'll buy you another drink
then I'll fill my pockets with complimentary
toothpicks till I'm as dangerous as
a porcupine on ecstasy
under the right light
you can almost see the devil on your
I'll be a parking lot away
with the memories those
fumes bring back

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