tomorrow, you are going to look me straight in the eye, like a stranger with strength. you'll smile with conceit and rest a lonely cigarette against your index finger tip. you'll know i want it because i can't stop but look. I'll say no, i don't do that no more, and you'll laugh like the milky way. You'll barf into the stars, and me stand entranced. I'll never shed the thinest layer of rolled up bible paper. I'm weak, like the ants in my yogurt bowl.
Plastic bag over the head, rubber bands on the neck, leaned back much like Al Bundy, ears in a bowl of flowers, feet pointing straight towards the sky, on a black cotton robe with roses, dia de los muertos, yr the only one who'd get it.
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