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.