it was a monday
kinda tuesday
and the scorpion mezcal
still had a long tooth song
skipping like worn vinyl
coffee and white line fever
bandaged my eyes
from the manhole cover
of forbidden
i can't remember
her name
or the color
of her dress
but
the black satin garter
under a spanish moon
was an open mouth
to her wave
i was a division
of clocks
with no idle hands
and the midnight hour
struck numb
goin' south
while mirrors
flashed white
and a delicate balance
between the scorpion
and her
sting









18 old applause
