Wednesday, March 16, 2005

w/o purpose and sometimes

In los angeles
tanned farmers have all left
air smells like strawberries
glasses clink, cigarette smoke
money sinks, you’re a joke
mirrors everywhere, lines for coke
speed demons
they can’t drive
sixteen spiders run along highways
venom injecting personalities
hearts, lives.
Escape outward, to new lands
jealous of bad corruption
spreads like a
please, please don’t let me go
I’m finding my way home.


Sometimes I soar, fall, dive
swoop like an eagle
feeding frenzy in my brain
thoughts rushing, rushing about you
cooking in the kitchen, without a shirt
can drive a man crazy
raise your hands, at that angle
I’m like melted water
I’ve never told you
it’s a secret
and not yours.


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