bitch, you should have seen me back then
before but as god as my judge
I never said anything, just tried to
I just say the wrong things sometimes
At this point I’m sauntering in winter night cold sweat in this little town big city with grown men speaking in melodramas and pretensions but there’s melody in it somewhere, and they’re just screaming and crumbling around it. I’ve been here for three weeks but it’s suddenly almost warmer, and I was hoping we could all forget and I could leave again. I can’t quite tell when the smoke is gone in the cold, never learned how to smoke so that it rolls off my tongue, and anyway you wear your buttoned down strength around you like a shield so yes, I would keep listening if you would keep talking soft and low that way. The light walks across the facades and me, I can hear the beat in your words like it’s more music than it is.
I used to think that I was prone to fits
of greatness — now I make my art temporary
so that I can be sure nothing will last
Wrapped in the womb of this small town city, this concrete tornado of sirens and smiles, I forget why I left, forget the trauma of returning in this breath of sickly sweet cold and hot breath to keep away chill. There’s dancing. There’s a song that will never be sung again.
this is the only nowhere that has ever called me back.