drunk number eleven-five-hundred

I knew a girl who was a pathetic lover of the past
and even when she looked in the mirror, she wore a mask
and she danced all night and wore the most colorful clothes
but beneath that i saw the thorns hiding, and further, the roses
there was this girl who stood on the sidewalk all night
but when old white men rolled up in their Benzs’
her lips pursed up all crinkled and tight
and she said “sorry boys, I only fuck twins”

i watched her every day by the bus stop
and even when the rain poured she soared
like dim light makes a rainbow crop into the sky’s plantation
and every word she ever said to me was only an abbreviation.

She did not sleep but disappeared
into a wormhole in her dreams
and the Nebulas i found her in seared
with a too-scalding sun exploding like green
on earth,
she was my rebirth.

I looked into a crystal ball
with a Cherokee woman who read palms
and I could see it all (all the earth, its rise and fall)
and knew the girl i loved was the future of napalm:
the likes of Hiroshima in me, the genocide of entire countries.

I knew a girl who changed songs before they ended
cos she already knew that they wouldn’t last,
and she left any friend of her soul suspended
in the chalk and dust of the universe; she saw the present as past

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