wrestling with the demons that won't stay dead
& the part of me that just can't believe.
i paint myself green
swinging high in the trees
like a Lisbon girl,
cut down by dutch elm disease.
there's a monster in this skin
& i'm jumping trains in the wind,
dressed for tonic & gin
while she puts on black to go out again.
i've got a rhythm that moves like a jigsaw.
No comments:
Post a Comment