Picking up bottle caps off the city sidewalks,
and collecting pretty pennies in a jar.
Rubbing copper faces for luck
instead of simply looking up,
She misses all the billboard love
stapled to the sky above.
Weaving through the concrete streets,
dodging skyscrapers on tiptoe feet,
she's just blowing in the breeze -
sleep, wake up, repeat.
She's a windy thing, herself,
she's an angel raising hell
with the scent of midnight cigarettes.
She's a nightmare in a burning dress.

She's an empty wishing well.