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Gridlock.

by Eli Skipp

Miss you, love you, be mine, and never stop loving me. Her feet tap, splash, dance, burning candle stick's decree. Shoes on broken sidewalks never slowed her down, ahead, a lonely porch-light, Kurt Cobain the only sound. And in her pocket's a lighter, a stick of eyeliner, some cigarrettes, she's fearing where her feet take her, the crunch of frozen glass a threat. And when the chorus ends she's a few cross-roads away, the stop-lights shine blueish-green, and someone's radio's on play. The windows sell celebrities and promise you the stars, saying, try to be yourself though you don't know who you are. The taxis breeze through the current of sharp horns, saying, I've got passengers, got things to say, got ideas to be borne. And by the time the light turns red, she's crossed a sea of puddles to where the broken sidewalk led. Back to a lonely porch light she'd tried hard to avoid, a broken candle in the window lit, it's flame was overjoyed. She drew a breath of piercing air, her lungs began to sting, and climbed up ev'ry crumbling stair and gave the bell a ring. Footsteps broke through Kurt Cobain, a hand opened the door, to a little girl out in the rain, drenched to frightened core. She said, "Help me, save me, solve me, for I do not know the way, I've lost my soul to gridlock and to bus delays." And he took her hand within his own and answered to her plea, "Miss you, love you, be mine, and never stop loving me."

11/17/2005

Posted on 11/17/2005
Copyright © 2022 Eli Skipp

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