Stretched the eyes into catty kohl.
Hooked three buckles apiece on each of two feet.
Plucked the umbrellas curve from the doorknob,
And I headed off.
I stop thinking when the train starts moving.
(With a Bionic gurl.
)
Waiting.
Boys hair looks bad.
Sniggle.
More trains move.
The street looks so small to me
without a sea.
A plaster fairy swings.
The walls glitter with wings.
A little girl passes by,
Im all of them she says.
Sticky chocolate fingers,
Poor chai,
Better company.
Nothing relevant runs through my mind
I stop thinking when I start feeling
Thumps of the heart reverberate,
Thump,
Thump, kicking cognition out the window.
It rolls into the street, ran over by a streetcar
And I kiss it away.
Thump.
Yes.
Thump.
Wandering palm to palm.
(May chance stumble across a Lola,
a darling Lola, along the way.)
Buttery pasta.
All the while, absorb beauty.
Loveliness tastes slick and soft like a tongue.
Trace perfection with a single fingertip.
Water forms a shiny table top.
The clouds look heavy,
The stars only come out if attached to tower tops,
and an angel sits on my lap while
the National Inquirer snaps away.
A small snail tries to steal my headband,
He moves too fast to be a snail,
But I dont let the cheeky bastard get away.
I feel just like an actor in parting.
Those scenes that make your heart weep
Because they just dont want to leave
The others side.
But oh, goodbye.
Gone, now, for my train I wait.
Heels hurt.
After counting the rats that race between the tracks Im inside again
And I dont think when the train is moving.
I sit. I see.
I stare at the girl that stares back at me.
She has my long lashes.
My headband.
My cat eyed kohl,
Only more smudged then I remember
And her hair, not as neat as I recall
And instead I turn my focus to the people inside.
A man with a yellow paper rose in his hat
tries hard to peddle his poems all along the car.
Jesus wears suede.
Interesting, but not as interesting as the girl in the glass who meets my gaze.
Back to her,
we share a tired conversation without words,
concerning the events of the night.
Exclamation hides behind the eyes,
And only I can recognize it.
Only she can see it.
Only we share it, without saying
what cant be said by the feeling we found
that beat thinking.
Hooked three buckles apiece on each of two feet.
Plucked the umbrellas curve from the doorknob,
And I headed off.
I stop thinking when the train starts moving.
(With a Bionic gurl.
)
Waiting.
Boys hair looks bad.
Sniggle.
More trains move.
The street looks so small to me
without a sea.
A plaster fairy swings.
The walls glitter with wings.
A little girl passes by,
Im all of them she says.
Sticky chocolate fingers,
Poor chai,
Better company.
Nothing relevant runs through my mind
I stop thinking when I start feeling
Thumps of the heart reverberate,
Thump,
Thump, kicking cognition out the window.
It rolls into the street, ran over by a streetcar
And I kiss it away.
Thump.
Yes.
Thump.
Wandering palm to palm.
(May chance stumble across a Lola,
a darling Lola, along the way.)
Buttery pasta.
All the while, absorb beauty.
Loveliness tastes slick and soft like a tongue.
Trace perfection with a single fingertip.
Water forms a shiny table top.
The clouds look heavy,
The stars only come out if attached to tower tops,
and an angel sits on my lap while
the National Inquirer snaps away.
A small snail tries to steal my headband,
He moves too fast to be a snail,
But I dont let the cheeky bastard get away.
I feel just like an actor in parting.
Those scenes that make your heart weep
Because they just dont want to leave
The others side.
But oh, goodbye.
Gone, now, for my train I wait.
Heels hurt.
After counting the rats that race between the tracks Im inside again
And I dont think when the train is moving.
I sit. I see.
I stare at the girl that stares back at me.
She has my long lashes.
My headband.
My cat eyed kohl,
Only more smudged then I remember
And her hair, not as neat as I recall
And instead I turn my focus to the people inside.
A man with a yellow paper rose in his hat
tries hard to peddle his poems all along the car.
Jesus wears suede.
Interesting, but not as interesting as the girl in the glass who meets my gaze.
Back to her,
we share a tired conversation without words,
concerning the events of the night.
Exclamation hides behind the eyes,
And only I can recognize it.
Only she can see it.
Only we share it, without saying
what cant be said by the feeling we found
that beat thinking.
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