Expiration Date[Sung by Billie Holiday eating strawberries in bed.]Expiration Date
Baby why don't you Slip into my skin Beneath the layers [paper-thin] that whisper "you're no good for me."
Baby i can Be A muse on my knees, The medicine [expired] For the permanent disease.
I don't expect To live forever. But I've got this afternoon. & the taste in my mouth Of tangled steel, & calendar pages
TopographyThe city smells of soap. Cheap paraffin wax grated over iced knuckles & lips, parched with inquiry. White wire bristles screech against teh concrete's Uncertain terrain, sweeping footprints Like mythology Into uninviting corners.Topography
But I've learned to cope With streets With amnesia. Walls of Technicolor post-it notes Repeat landscapes of palms, The wet tobacco leaves, & eyes like static satellites, upturned, Catching smog.
Though their names Timorous in maroon, Peel in consonants to be reused.
All Things ConsideredIn the morning, he makes coffee That smells like revolution. He pulls back the blinds, & I choke On the sunlight, in dischord, our of rhythm With the goodnight music on my stereo. & I, startled awake, fall back into my skin.All Things Considered
My skin, Weathered by mediocrity, teeth stained with coffee, Workweeks, calendars. The stereo Keeps humming, promising revolution In its sleepy rhythm. The static glitters faintly, & the singer seems to choke.
I don't choke Down this morning. My skin Still stained maroon, the red wine rhythm Still waltzing me in circles
Savior in Housewares It wasn't until after the blender moved from whip to puree that the mob started listening. From the podium, it gurgled out words like "patriot," & "nemeses," its glitter-sharp blades waving like banners above the crowd of silvered eyes. The incumbent, who had lost his hands pointing a well-manicured finger toward his opponent's gaping skull, wrapped his wrists in flags & petitions, dripping names of notable campaign contributors into powdered carpet fibers. The moderator tossed confetti shards of his silk necktie into a cluster of fawning Libertarians, shrieking, "Out of our homes! Into our kitchen!" while Black & Decker sanSavior in Housewares
Hey, Wanna Help Me
I really like your sketches, they're sooo cute
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new account, now here: [link]
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I'm an animal trapped in your hot car.
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Komm und rette mich...
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We shall cross that bridge when we come to it. One day at a time, keep on smiling kid.
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