Driftwood

Folder: 
Mombi's Heads

Cabbage patch paddy whack

I'm hanging up the phone

Alone

You pass between subway cars

And act fascinated

We dine on the endangered

Then cast our fates with

A spectral prism of passion

Pierced; look away

Siren of the lonely rocks

No sailor hears your call

The hours will not sire 

A response

Can we chat

Just for a bit 

About desire

I've broken down the game tape

I've fudged around with numbers

There's a formula: drudge, arid, numb

If you'll only buy in

Live in beach grass, blinded

Hope you get what you require

 

 

 

 

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