| The wild one was wrong; The stars marvel at us In our glamorous gutters. |


GardenHow does your garden grow When it knows of all the leaves You've thrown away?Garden


With rings on her fingersWith rings on her fingers She cooled my brow When the sick days came.With rings on her fingers
Now they sit on her dresser And I self-medicate In a different state.


If your heels are nimbleIf your heels are nimble And light flies from your fingers, Follow me into the fire And by nightly waltz We'll gallivant on tipping toes Until the head of dawn comes home.If your heels are nimble


Flat PassionI wake up when the morning long has gone With nothing on but dust and dirty sheets While smiles that crack with all the plaque thereinFlat Passion
Are strewn about like garbage on the floor.
I belch on high and herald to the world That I'm alive and stumble down the hall To rinse away my cares with nothing but A lump of mildewed soap and curdled cream.
To spite the bowl of moldering fruit I bought To feature in the crusted breakfast nook, I raid the pantry for a midday snack: A balanced meal of Mountain Dew and chips.
But soon I'm off to work and once again &nbs
| The wild one was wrong; The stars marvel at us In our glamorous gutters. |
I'll put some more stuff up soon. I'm in a miniature writer's block, but it should subside soon. I can feel it; it's like a dam breaking.
--
"He who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news." - Bertolt Brecht
--
"He who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news." - Bertolt Brecht
--
"He who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news." - Bertolt Brecht
You got it, love!
congrats!!
--
Not to be preserved, he is to be overcome
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