twenty steps.
this morning i felt like death, as he held me tight in his bony grasp
i was throwing up on the footpath, all over the pavement and onto the grass
and it was all my fault, i was a burning tree about to fall, asleep.
i dreamed of a secret handshake, one that shook time and history
it cleaned up all the streets, gave humans back their dignity,
and the ladys found their hope, in torn up womens magazines
as they watched them burn, eyes focused on the flames.
the sheets were wet with sweat, the sun sat on the end of the bed
and the heat of last nights sex came flooding back in drips and drabs.
and i couldn’t open my mouth, things have changed and moved about
my head is like a house, but i’ve left home and moved far south
if i could take it back, i would never have packed my bags,
or even slept around but I marched out with my arrogance.
I should have asked you to the dance instead,
you would have been my cure in twenty steps.
or less.
