Monday, January 28, 2008

sometimes i worry that i've lost the plot

keep art alive; art by chickencat

santa monica, 1993

i dance into the white light of flame,cigarette smoke,
chipped disco light,
i spin in the not-knowing of who i am.

the shadows embrace my spirit, grind me to dust,
i look to the delicious curves of her next to me,
black hair and a biting tongue.

we are the celebration of lost youth,
the jangled truths of ripped open envelopes,
shattered glasses and the used-to-be specials.

i feel pure when i'm with you here,
lost and disjointed as we are, your lipstick on my
you only give this much to me when no one can see.

i choke back the lonely cry inside my spine,
the way i want your crumpled everyday sleepy sides,
not just the glamor of a misspent night in the sand.

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