Volume turned up
Bus stop tuned out
Caffeine on this bench
O, what a wretch!
Every computer is full,
Full of the flesh, full of eyes
And those half naked pages—
Who’s worse—the sinner under the
Tower or the coward as the star of the
Church? What is worse—living with just
Breath or dying so you may live without
It really sticking?
Freeway lover,
Backseat worker you were,
Telling me how to live, how to drive
And how to love you better—
Summers have never faded,
Humid was always placated
By those drive through days—
Those pop songs I made you listen
To! I am too looking for the filler,
Looking for a thriller, looking for a
Lovesick killer—threaded at noon,
Thick was the kick that made me me
Never shave those eyebrows again—
Never look like that faceless man again—
Volume still up,
Bus city tuned out—
Bus pass for you to pass me—
I am the fragrance that follows me—
Made its way into this head and now
We are making it better each day—
Let love be the best part of the weather