Rows of empty seats
oh hollow night
lay your black arms upon my back
let us live inside the tin shreds
of your tears
I lift my legs and climb the stairs
and the evening magnificence
is yer noise
blasting my head
into
little peices
while the chairs
watch and grow into ghosts
shadows who watch my every
instance
and bare thier teeth
at my poor beffudeled
face
Love hides in the dark
hands fit into gloves
and they murder the
night with thier softness
I was once a child
and then i grew
into a creature of shadows
and carnitas and mineral water
and tennis shoes
and mythical sound
sometimes i dream of being
alive as a hot cup of tea
can be on a night of empty chairs
and empty loves and empty flame....
No comments:
Post a Comment