There's magic in the
A penny down, I came
Up to tell
Your cheap *** to try a
Show me the green man I
Aint no nun
Its not my scene
But it will be tonight
The vibe is buzzing
And the lights are alive
Yet everybody seems dead
Like zombies in the spotlight
Shaved and clean
Feeling Shiva tonight
End of the world
Intro to Outro
With a light
The wait is over
Drinks have gone
I met a busboy and once he really ***** twill
of this winding expressway
with a bourgeois vex in this supper quest
why a Turk described them admirably
a shrew whirled in a shrill of the night
still could skirt his papa's pants
in a romance of tennis
to further kind with a match
only with a foul drama again
and put it in court
an actor's guild
my lungs are made of sunbleached storms
and unfinished poems,
stalled and trapped in a cycle
of kisses under the disco lights
it's been so long
since they last sealed
my comets shut;
its ice, dust,
now trying to spill
out of my chest
every time i sigh a word.
that's what club music is good for;
they mask the sound
of breaking down;
the sound of
bodies and meteors
each noise drowns out
my unsent letters,
and restroom meltdowns,
and my voice, saying your name
over and over and over again
as i come undone
on a stranger's lap.
he looked almost just like you —
and then he didn't.
and my comets almost all stayed,
but they didn't.
and i was almost just alive —
and then i wasn't.
honey, the world got us all wrong —
brewing *****, noise
and ash-brown eyes
across the floor —
it's happiness until it isn't;
in the end,
we're still comets
melting into solar flares
and forlorn figures
that never make it home.
the music fades.
the glasses fall.
it's 8 am, and we still wake up
to the suntrails of all the things we'd lost.
In the city at night
Dark red lipstick
Painted on full lips
Writhing to the rhythm
Piercing emerald eyes
Meticulously manicured nails
On delicate fingers
Step by step, tyranny
Tease me rough without laches
At least don't leave me in your protean arms, dissembled in activism
In my forged memoir of your laughing, your kauch killing me not
My katzenjammer can handle your astute Aesop's words and wanton
A lullaby to remember, an anxious feeling?
Pick me up at the open-sesame street
Lacunae, propitious, wasted by the remonstration and impertinence
This is my land of thought full of moral desert, in confidence
I am Tyler Durden's wasted brother in arms by namesake
Directing ain't about drawing a neat little picture and showing it to the cameraman.
I don’t know how we changed,
I can’t remember the first time we kissed
or the first time we - well.
but I remember the first time you told me where you were living next year
and the second time
and the third.
you picked the right moment to meet me, or was it just chance?
that the club was closing but there was still time for one dance
and I only had one ciggie left but you didn’t mind sharing
and you knew where the after party was and you didn’t mind sharing
I have to stop seeing techno boys
Because I think that it’s meaningful when really I’m just high… on the music.
I really want to talk to you about how crazy it is that the light hitting the Earth right now is billions of years old
or maybe just how my day went because I’m not a Tumblr post
we’re sitting in the pub with two drinks between us like a moat
and I really want to tell you something
but I CAN'T because you're talking... about where you're going to be living... next year.
or what you study at uni & last week's pub crawl
you speak all these words and you just say **** ALL
but I just smile and filter you out
because in the end I know there’s no doubt
that we’ll go home tonight and go through the motions
& in the morning you’ll leave to ‘charge your phone’
I’m kidding I’m kidding take me seriously, please
not that I care but it means the world to me
because the person you are in my head doesn’t match up
to the boy sitting in front of me on a ****-up
I think I'm realising I’m in love with MY love
and it’s impossible for you to ever measure up
(but anyway you were kinda setting yourself up to fail)
(when you spend the whole date talking about trainer resales)
so I guess this is a break-up - if we even warrant that -
cause I know we won't speak if I don't text back
and then in three months, I’ll run into you again
and I’ll wonder how we changed,
You have been warned...
Honey-flowing rivulets of jazz-beaten syncope,
Trumpets blowing smoke across the room,
‘Curveball’ Sammy hustles bass behind the bar,
Snares his songbird in a played back loop.
Harlem shufflers work the floor, breaking safe,
Clave rhythm scufflers with a New York twist,
Black keys write with borrowed brass on iv’ry walls,
Pick the lock on a swelt’ring southern riff.
‘If you have to ask what jazz is, you’ll never know.’
- Louis Armstrong