Two Kids.
Unfinished lyrics for a song I’m working on.
entertained by numb images
forget the reason why we showed up at all
ice sculptures, tired mothers
put the check in the mail and hope for the best
we don’t want to enjoy ourselves
left the ideas to someone else
wildfire situations running into walls
sweet scented calls for production models
whispering fragile confused directions
broken neck cuddling stop the bleeding affection
break down
throw up
don’t listen when there’s no time, short attention
inside it lies no memory no mistakes except for trying to shine
don’t try to make her cry about memorized standards
or what you think is not right
there is just life
there is no good or bad, it does not make me sad
it doesn’t have to be explained, go through the day with sharp abdominal pain
all of this is held within her pretty skin
thinking of two kids
55 envelopes black tea on an empty stomach
lungs untouched by air spray perfume blow dry hair
don’t look outside it’s too quiet
background noise warm pillows shut eyes
bright colors fade scrub carpet stains
For some reason this makes me think of my friend Julie Given who was a model for a time back in the late 1980’s, and was in Spain for quite a while. She told many stories of how all the women in the shoots had all sorts of eating disorders. When she came back stateside, we hung out all the time. We smoked cigarettes and listened to The Violent Femmes & U2 & The Pogues and ate all kinds of stuff. We discovered the spatula. Who would have guessed that such a thing could revolutionize baking? Good times.
Comment by Sandi — December 5, 2006 @ 3:47 am
This reminds you of a spatula. Huh.
Comment by derek — December 5, 2006 @ 3:43 pm