Tuesday, 26 April 2011

of clouds. and ways

perhaps you’d have let them
lead the way,
but the needle scratched.
the music stuck
and they became something less
than pioneers
with nothing to offer
besides a shit shot
with some poison arrows
that used to lie
scattered like flaming confetti
at your feet.

1 comment:

Some Girl said...

Thank you for the comment. I read this and I see a basement party when the sun comes up and it's time to go home. I see the obscure body passed out on the couch. I see the wreckage of the easy hours on the floor.