Mother never
lived long enough
to read my book
of nights
scattered
among notebooks,
unwritten rough drafts
of my life
loose stars hang flavorless
like the blue he wears so
well with undone emotion
behind a broken silver clock
my angel, she never sleeps
not at all in neverland
lost somewhere
between timid forbidden love
and saving my soul
from damnation
I wash my hair
in wine on Sundays
to remove the sin
while coffee percolates
a taste of man
I wonder…
Does an April’s fool
look good in whore red ?
4/6/08




Lane




What a fun read this one is!! I loved it!!



27 old applause
