Love washes her hands of you
eat the telling of it cold
eat the telling of it cold
in the places we grew up
the impotent trees the frightened hard
the impotent trees the frightened hard
ground--as softly as she can--
big arched rust and all fucked-up
big arched rust and all fucked-up
as far as the eye can see--two punks on
lowriding bikes pedal circles into
lowriding bikes pedal circles into
the intersection--and now this breathless
slice--and now we take a silent break
slice--and now we take a silent break
***************************************************************************
No More Movements...
Lewis LaCook -->Poet-Programmer|||http://lewislacook.corporatepa.com/|||
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