There are                no teeth in my apple
                 and my lost love takes pictures

                                     with backgrounds that I spy
saturation in. She misses me,                                 I know it.

  The litanies of street performers, and go-go rockstars--she shares the same
plea.                          But I do not know if she uses the same words.
                                  But I hear their rhythm throughout the film.
        Graffiti dollars nestled in the dark of my wallet--preparing for the rocks.