Monday, November 7, 2011

Where are we?




spin me around again
and rub my eyes
this can't be happening
when busy streets
a mess with people
would stop to hold
their heads heavy

oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before
the takeover
the sweeping insensitivity 
of this still life

hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
blood and tears
they were here first

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk
newspaper words cut-out
speak no feeling 
no I don't believe you
you don't care a bit

you don't care a bit

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