Hip to hip, and coast to coast
Keys digging into my thigh, keys jangle
Clipped to the hip
Of anyone these days, she says, tosses her hair,
Where did you say? And is that? And are you?
.
Vomit hits the roots. The contraction, the spit,
And there used to be berries, I think
Blue and pink, stickers on socks, a look
I think I would want to see
Bambi’s on, a sticker digs into skin, it happens again
.
Boy Mercury!
Speakers buzz with fuzz, clipping in and out
Between 103.5 and 103.5, a perpetual rain storm, a downpour
All trees and houses are the same shade of silverfish grey
And all the rottweilers are off leash, feeble prong collars
Catch porch light and throw it back in my eyes
.
A yellow, green, pink and blue bruise
Sits on the thigh-hip, shaped like something
he said, shaped like keys, or a perfect day, or a secret,
But the glass has been tapped, and there’s Roam again.
One day, for your sake, there will be a station that plays just for me.
.
.
.