i wish i could communicate like the greeks to you
like the feminists
like the trashy authors
but all i can do is howl at the same moon
the you might stand under
and hope to god
that you speak dachshund
the streets are quiet and orange
it is 1am
ive left a beautiful girl at the base of her stairs
as my love is in another city
i take the alleyways
quiet
aside from my own clanks
my python skin boots creak
wooden soles agains concrete ring echoes
my legs are like iron logs
my heavy shoulders slump fatigued
with an email from my ex wife
and a poster of a rock show under my arm
there is a beer at home
my legs are like stumps
and the woman i love
is further away than my imagination can travel
it is wednesday
in montreal
and the city is quiet
and so god damn
fucking pretty
zebrasindenver 