trace his path
across the face
of a painting
of a stage
please...
lights go by
black and white
images filled
with post-war
misery,
please...
Other days
promises made to
children explode
and gazing out my window
another dawn shatters
like crystals
in a geode
like jewels
that make women
scream
please,
come back,
baby..
(and FUCK Meg Whitman....no, really.)
No comments:
Post a Comment