There are flowers hanging in the vine
so high you cannot see

Now my mind
must go on holiday
torn from its hook
a broken valentine

I see smoke
from a revolver
will I get hit
I hardly care

When I’m bombed
I stretch like bubblegum
and look too long
straight at the morning sun

There are flowers along the avenue
all things perfectly in place

I build a shrine
I set a monument
because you’re fire
because you’re a fire escape


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: