I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins, all of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys, then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair, stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere.
Have I found you, flightless bird? Jealous, weeping. Or lost you, american mouth?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment