The lights blink off and on: they're really airstrips
after the party for attractive drunks who wassail-fucked
I don't want the world with feels complimented...
Always a shirt this time of year will smell of pine
Steelton still has a Croatian bus goes in a straight line
to the cemetery for dying singing ladies
Dying singing ladies singing Fortuna
singing for tuna for their hundred kitties
with their six or eight hundred milking titties!
I would like to kidnap you with a glue gun and make you forget
watch you fall through soft toys of regrets
If only you could sneak your way past the you
the way a red winter flower does, beside one shoe
ridonkulous leaves whorish with glitter, Chinese blue glue
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