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Shifting
Questions, remember? Dusted
for prints of sincere attacks call me how a cast of names sullen against the usual backdrops never stop a slip in starship colors one has to die and die on. Now’s no time to stall a tangle among the melancholy horns or refuse to darken a window. Freedom is the solitude to pay for? The day reflects another mouth and substantial nightfall fabrications mean anything to be out of the life they’re talking past and say you still owe them. So you call up crying that it would be good to have it back when you see me dead on the six o-clock news. |  |
