Friday, July 2, 2010

Find me a foreign bride
With a thick accent
Looks that blind

Well researched
In imported dirt
Black stockings, eyeliner
Bob Dylan on her T-shirt

1960's throwback gem
But still a sinner
She'll insist we go out for dinner

Tragic lighting
On lower sides
Gourmet dishes
Drifting tides

She paints her dreams
But hates to seem

Part of the scene

We're rarely lost
At first
For re-birth

No mantra, wine or opening skipped
She finishes every last sip

We freely float
From sidewalk to corner
Stumbling down the street
Bored with the border

There's an exile
And a feeding
Some textiles
And shallow greetings

Her father sells
Our soulless expressions
On EBay
For a better seat in heaven

The mother once knew
Some late great sir
Dust collects
On these gifted furs

Older brother
Hates his life
Hates the spoon
But loves the knife

We elope
No hesitating
It's the coast
Contemporaries commemorating

Subjects of
Their next big project
All their compliments
Are suspect

She'll eventually miss
The graceless spin
While I'll decay
From the outside in

Our children try their best
To duplicate
Such distress
With respective mates

I'll get drunk
and wave goodbye
A second time

And dimpled quirks

Hey Hey Hey

This next big hit
All in a day's work

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