My friend said something
‘it was words singing’, something like
but that was a glance of cleavage past,
a smile and fiddle of sandal,
her golden skin
shined with sweat till
right in the dark valley
of her frilly green
and orange dress,
as if to let the air in
for a slow
As many fibres in those eyes have died,
and even though your cells are dull and dry;
despite the fact those data chips are fried,
.....remember that your credit is still high,
and if you wish, for a discounted fee
you can recharge your dwindling energy,
upgrade those mental skills to two point three
and be the system you were meant to be!
Or if you want to gain a few more creds,
take on a few more psyches for the ride!
There's four fine people with songs in their chests:
The first man, on the stairs,
open-throats a Spanish hymn,
pacing it back and forth to the roof
but wishing it further.
The second man stumbles,
blues chords tangling in a white beard.
With his arms down low,
he's looking for the key to the storeroom.
The third fine person has long legs
and a purple dress,
and she hums past a song
Brow beat in midday sun
my hair’s a wet tangle.
One scratch, and the game’s done.
Sea, fresh in my breaths in,
warm toes, curled in cool sand,
I know the count’s long done.
Still in the dunes, heart slow,
a cricket lands by me,
chirping in the long grass.
chirp chirp, chirp chirp, chirp chirp;
You peng zi yuan fang lai*,
in time, we say goodbye.
My fine guest leaves, rested,
Kept close in and at its chest, small hands cupped,
that ghost popped in, a door guest.
It tricks n treats in sheets best.
Updated 10-01-2011 at 10:26 PM by Silas Thorne