oh self ignition,
i can feel her suitcase sensing mine
she was her own permission,
miss nineteen ninety ninety ninety nine nine nine nine charles james sofa, and a household truce
and there every wednesday night beneath the counter booth i woke up in a house i could understand
the descendants of defendants were making demands. gently thinking backwards
on the psychedelic promises god made to me in the dark
some of these kids don’t have words
they’re as helpless as parakeets in a park i couldn’t believe it, when i saw that you wrote
that a burning passenger shouldn’t ruin the boat if dreams are your body telling you it’s confused
then i’ve got a dream i think you can use all lace and fiction
in the lawless rooms where you finally lost your health
i read the evening edition
and the pumpkin on the porch is trying to heal itself i don’t like magic, and i don’t like tricks
having a helluvah time believing we exist the mailman dreams he’s paul revere
he wants the whole town to buy him a beer and i have to remember that your not wanting me
doesn’t make me any less here