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They look at us, they hate us.

Coffee stains on the couch
tea stains on your table cloth
both caused by me
bringing you a drink.
There, the markings of our life,
a reasonable plurality of refracting ideas
worthy of a modernist museum wall
or perhaps a whole exhibit
during the summer months
in Paris or New York.
But certainly
the critics would hate it
and rightly they should,
my dear, rightly they should.


03/19/06

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  • BlueNote27
    October 30, 2007

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    Oh my god, I love this, and I can't put into words why. The last two lines kill me, in the best way possible.

    ROCK!