batsose

Mackeral back flip
She slips away from me
And jettisons herself out of my bed

Strange concave creases left in the sheets
the only memorabilia left, besides
the stange shadowy images in my head

She grabs a random sock and my shirt
and tells me she must go home
and shower before she works

Promising she'll return my shirt as she scoots out the door
And I lie here, ceiling fan reminds me of a movie
-an image of Coppola singing Morrison lullabies-

Breath in the stale air as if
I could suck out the sound of her voice again
finding courage to face the crazies

laughing at the thought of them
looking to me for something sane...