driving through a four a.m. cleveland,
i feel as if i'm the smirk of the city.
it's as cold as a heartless fuck out there,
and sneeze-mist rain is infecting my windshield.

but inside my junkyard-car doors,
ben folds plays a ben folds tune
and i'm watching the streetlights instead of the road.
lake erie moseys past me like the future
while i think of my girl down south,
and i kiss the picture of her i keep in the pocket
somewhere between my right lung and my heart,
but i feel none of my favorite lips.

for now,
i guess,
i'll just dance with the dawn
on the fingertips of america.

05/16/2011

Posted on 05/18/2011
Copyright © 2024 Cole Atkinson