my ears are ***** my fingers are *******( with the purist of intentions ) there is a bus in the lane next to me as i come closer and closer i notice the amsterdamn read lights and i think to myself (i wonder how much that bus driver would charge me for a ****) she looks old and faded crusty crumbling eye lids held up by small sticks made from the bones of huming bird wings fashoned together by tiny men in the face of the man in the moon