I heard a spider
ate your sister
and they called the cleanup crew
and every 3rd of May they celebrate
the girl that no one knew.

There's always liquor
in the attic
in between the beams of truth
where my grandfather left his documents
before heading to WWII.

A simple strain of consciousness dives between your thighs.

It's always hotter
in the shade
when I take my t-shirt off
and some debutante or ragweed brain
opens up her throat to cough.

So I do
I spit all over it
and down the hatchet pipe
I leave my dreams inside her thruway
and on her eyes the city lights.

A simple strain of complication drives around with blinders on.

Echoed in this
the tiny township
are the cries of Julie Bread
a 'single' daughter of the movement
a single stitch without a thread.

Now there are
rumors in abundance
and her father has some clues
yet they only found a plaid shoelace
some type of residue in her shoes.

A field of constancy randomly attacking the norm behind our eyes.

It'll take time
before a verdict
is read and Julie's young body
leaves the restroom in my head.

For the last
time I remember
at the party on the hill
you got my name right and I fainted
as you and your boyfriend split the pill.

05/31/2012