A spongy asphalt carpet to lie on this evening
two beer drenched receptacles of loneliness
as ska music drowns the air in bliss and dream
i can feel your mind work at an explanation
as the bass from the men on the roof kills in earnest
an attempt to rape my rhythms of everyday life
and abduct them to make my ideas their own,
harbored feuds
somehow fueled by the inexplicable urge to f**k
call it what you will, but my liner wet eyes wonder
at what lies beneath your clothing
some flesh toned robe of innocence and candy
or something more suited to the rain than sugar
interzone and alleyways call our names
like strangers with candy
luring children to windows with promised lies
theres something about trapped fire escapes
that strangle the imagination under the neon lights
of the crowbar, buried behind A Dream
just south of the border,
trapped against a sharp bank
third & Monroe never seemed so intoxicated
and your eyes never seemed so bright
somehow the library reminded me
of thunder birds and beach boys
and the Manson families affairs
i don't know if it was really the fifties
but things seemed to slow down a little bit
hourglass symptoms and slowed down reflections
mirrored like wading pools swum laterally
cardigan sweater connotations and swaggers
