clatter crash cry
are the ones that make yours stop-
under that indecisive face of the moon
(should i laugh, smile, cry?
light their world or
lick these lovers in a kiss of darkness?)
well, it's all indecision, baby.
i'll smoke my cigarettes
to the filter
and call her in tacoma
say 'you know your rain
but do you know
the suffocation of metaphorical snow?'
because it's all about my
heart being blinded,
wearing chains,
being snuffed like a wet match
thrown in the gutter
by a speeding car,
drunk swerving driver and all.
it's all about the beginning
because the end always comes
again.
the sixth
the eighth