but you just want me to say what you want me to say.
Watch the wheels peel along the road as I go way
of the South, the North, soar, fail, or grow stale.
Figure if I dropped the ball to watch it chased across the street,
what would you think?
Say I said what you expected. Suppose I sung the dirge you need.
Beneath the boxes where we explored constellations we'd never seen was incredible.
What I'd like now is a margarita in a soft glass.
Take me second class, she can have my seat.
What if I got hot feet or a too-hot-to-trot beat
or we all recognized or acknowledged the heart's weak,
and we slugged the sleak slushy drink in the soft glass of concrete.
Staple the sun to the moon. Slow her pace with the weight of his moan.
On bricks, I sat under a jet-setter's home
as he soard through the sward at the back of the swarm.
It was fun-tastic freedom at the nickle arcade.
It was persons, places, things, and cupcakes.
It was chocolate on one side, mesquite on the other.
It was teal and off-color.
It was dirty water and delicate caffeine.
Her is no more than less than There
and in every wash of wester blue
it grew more than more than what i feared
and only I was truth.
No comments:
Post a Comment