Wednesday, April 16, 2003

when that guy left I forgot how to read

ran 8 miles of milk
to feed at your teat and bake
things just right for the cake

held fast to the rail
of the speeding, young plane
for the chances the engineer'd take

lost all self-denial
at a librarian's house
staring three pool tables deep

wrote a lookingglass note
on a tooth by her head
after lingering long in her sleep

crossed the country to pray
and the mission to dance
with the cops on my heels the whole way

but i never found words
like the ones that you said
or the ones that I want you to say

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