the sickly sweet ill stench of cigarettes swims
airborne from my fingertips to my tongue
where i once thought it gone for good--
i was so naively wise then,
as i now am the inverse.

you know, once a girl gets something
turning, bubbling in that pretty little head,
it's impossible and moreover despicable
to make it stop until she's satisfied.

and if it is she who reverses
her surrealism reverie
she'll cry to you pitifully
in an innocent's quest of absolution

forgive me father for i know not what i do

indeed. and she will run down a vision
with her last gasp of atmosphere
straight to the skies if you'd let her
and you'll get letters, handwritten, from stardust.

07/11/2003

Posted on 07/19/2003
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