i can only be good for so long
i can pretend to tow-the-line . .
i wrote richard nixon back in 1972
then cut my hair & wore black eye-liner for 4 months
while listening to the ramones
i will not write what you say . . .
that is the truimph on 'opposites' day
fuck that
as i feel the gray-cloud needle's sweet-tart bite into skin
balanced on the precipice of constraint
i want to chase cars like a black mongrel
dressed in burlesque red ; feathered, shadowed
i will juggle balls of fire
and
spin planets of irish crytal
while
writing upon your skin of hope's desire
love deep & fierce
sucking at marrow & possibility
tighten
release
tighten
release
fuck that
it's cloudy today, and i like that . . .
