Same Mesa Boogie Woogie


The usual: arrows arose on the stem of our rose and we arranged them in teams or themes or rows of sorrow. A danger in terms of a stranger meat, like salmon: pink; has eggs, intricate bones. We tried to paint flu but the results were too painful. Tore them up but knew them by rote, like a tone stretched over a telephone. I'm not speaking in terms of the rotary dial; more how to keep a lid on the knot in your throat.

Sower of thorns, show me your secret north, how short it is on painted screens. Crease this dented crown. Cover me with sores and snow. Let numbness come all over me, and tell me to snub men's company. The result is a store of luster.