those hips(ters) are a mystery
the way they mistreat me
i can’t breath in your arms
speak now or hold your tongue
for once the serpent is out
it can’t be undone
funny the way we avoid ourselves
i hide from conflict, as well
as never making suggestions
such tragic dressing
is ******* itself
you jump on the train
look out for the ticket taker
offer him your fan
or your hand in friendship
but don't suggest that you know me
for all is what you claim yourself to be
smoking cars are in the back
and i attack the benefactor's articles
smart people bore me
like first hand diapers
and first time mothers
lovers dream of new windshield wipers
and i wonder if you paid the piper yesterday