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Miranda Writes


Miranda has the right to write in silence.
Anything you say, she will use against you
because you're moving your jaw.
Come knock on the door of my friend
Tom Sawyer. Especially if you cannot
afford a real lawyer.
I was trapped inside a rusty clock,
now I'm running out of time.
I'm gonna buy a tall, tall drink
and rub the rim with lime.
A pinch of salt, a pinch of skin,
just one more step and you'll be in.
These bottomless disturbances
quell my quivering quill,
I'm running out of time,
I've no time to ****.
Where voracious flowers whirl
with the movement of the moon,
and the lyrics won't be written
if I cannot find the tune.
In a dreamer's deeper darkness
remembering the womb's trembling throng,
keeps me merely existing just
to write your favorite song.
A piano intoxication is like
being chased by bees.
The more you drink, you'll drink more.
Let's go swimming in the keys.
Illumination's clear,
music is distressed.
It's time for me to go,
so, please don't be depressed.




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