Monday, October 13, 2008

No Space For Titles

Drunk nights, two, three, four
Splash a little of that sunshine into the cup
These are the chiming of our hours

Tell that silence to shut up
Peep-toe heels and shoeboxes of wit
The rise of the eyebrow at night

Cross your arms to the music of the drift
Lyrics bang: “I like you? Sike!”
Sure you’re a winner.

I could never tell if I was angry or glad
When my strength was a dying song
And being “A Woman” was a fad

They never suggest you be alone
But I sit by myself and wonder
If it will ever be the same

Or if I will find myself getting stronger
Getcha back to the rhythm of the game
Shrug a bye, and go write a poem.

You should never allow it to roam
An armory of lies and breathing
On a neck in broken baritones

Like the touch of butterflies seething.
I would like to dedicate this tea
To a frantic lullaby. I’m tired.

Leave the soil to the seed
Let me work because I’m wired
This will someday leave me alone.

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