Pennies Looking For Pockets

Bad things. Worn ugly for the audience. Nothing. Is. Tumbling down. High as we were. Statues without their clothes on. Mad. Like the wish from a little girl's lips. As the world ends around her.

Patience in a long refrain. Like the skin is. So ambivalent. Willing to taste. Try to survive on. Whatever is near enough. Gods in their bedpans. Piss and cum. Turning the leaves colors. In the faces of winter. Too cold. To ask. For a way out.

Trying the limbs on. From seldom dolls. Their dead eyes spoiling her face. With solvent stares. No one looks. She asks him how. He says because. People are empty. Because we want. So many things we'll never have.

You are too close. To god. For any man to love you. But it's obvious you don't care.

I had the map in my palm. That eager time machine. Laughing out loud. As I fiddled with dials. As if. I knew where I was going.