ThimbleBostitch

he takes a drag of his cigarette and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. He listens to his wife blow her nose, and he thinks of the word "tamper" and how weird it looks written down. he writes it down and squints at it. "what are you doing, honey?" his wife asks warmly as she dusts the blinds in the kitchen. "writing," he says, and he writes down the word "honey". How weird is that word? "About?" About. "Oh, nothing." he mutters. She sneezes loudly. Sneeze. "Oh my goodness, these blinds are so dusty!" "Uhuh," he scribbles down the word "dusty" and "blind". She looks over at her husband and sees his cigarette. "Put that out, p

coke, smoke, and cigarettes, flowers, money, and no regrets, martini souls and silhouettes of toned dudes and tall brunettes, the homeless play their clarinets, soft somber minuets about nights they won't forget, drunk drivers in their slick corvettes, no wasting time, placing bets, haven't run outta money yet, night's heat a daunting threat, kissing people you've never met, hide from the rain, you're getting wet, a time you wish you could reset, all for coke, smoke, and cigarettes.

can't you see how guilty i talk my yellow words they fall from my mouth like rotting teeth. I only pick the ones that cover up my bottomless fear of losing. this is the only life i'm given as far as i know, there's no time to make angels in the snow. there's no time to eat fear and swallow cowardice. am i crow or a swan? neither, i'm a spawn of molded fruits picked off a withered tree, locked in a forest of no light. let me be right. but no, there's no time to make angels in the snow.

Tell me I dance and pray for a reason I'm not here to entertain you for quarters and collections of coins I'm not a cheap violin being bowed for blissful enjoyment I've been shrunk and stretched and torn for what i'm worth what this town is worth I tap my dance on a table or two Telling you telling who telling them I'm so blue i'd give them something worth remembering Tell me I dance and pray for a reason a charity function for half the season. I dress up for dining on doleful dreams people have lost in their pockets it seems They feed me at night they feed my guilt a structure in which my soul is built I've been shrunk and stretched and