Flopping on bunk beds=
This room is a newsroom back to college and ancient history-
Headlines read with fortune teller's certainty:
"Don't kid yourself! This is you!"
"Sure, prove to us that's what you'll be..."
"Or now am I purposely pressing buttons?" " Ha)*"
Brainstorming musketeers doused in another late-night session.
Else we skyrocket out over the moon past the gangly, novel models or are they Hollywood palms? Back West
Till your Denver omelette becomes Love and Death
Or your fries, missy, are left for a smoke with Irresistible French boy;
Or Rocky Horror Night
Or, of course, Mr.'s sermons from Mt. Diet Soda--
Forecasts of every software update or cutlass-fish miniskirt sabotage -
Maybe somebody left a pick-up line back at The Scullhouse
Maybe face it - I just did a perfect impression of you
Maybe face it - my friend does NOT dig you
Maybe "Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to" at the top of Corolla lungs----
Maybe back to the place on Beloit,
Oasis to Angeleno newcomers,
Who maybe comb the back of the paper more than their bouffants, their crew-cuts, their spikes;
Beloit - castle to Pseudo-World and the creamed spinach pool out back,
Where surprised Polaroids get invited to the strangest dresser drawers,
Where we all tried to coexist.
Years later this moment still could be some sort of board game
If only our orbits had deja vu or if Pluto'd been a little more upfront with us.
1 comment:
Damn That Pluto... He's such a lier.
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