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Song for a Limousine Ride
I stole the kite, I drank beer, I ate people’s time to learn
I love to own nothing. Paper work is baffling and I assure you, not real. I’ve treated pets like room mates, expected them to clean and when they left, I understood I am hard to live with.
I prefer my mail unopened, like the spider hotel
I never got off the ground full of flowers inside, for comfortable casting, yellow pillows, Kayla Pillow in the coatroom with a new black tooth, I hit her with a ball.
To be honest, I’m worried about the roads.
I want to be brother honest, sister shared danger of a passenger seat, the ability to make something louder, the western saddle of buses to trains, and in a letter I wrote to my brother once, peering over a landfill outside of New York,
I believe in the triple seat closest to the bathroom
with the flapping door and the smell of bad aim. Andrew, why does all garbage smell the same? Like balloons and tornados? Do you remember seeing the band ‘Garbage smells good’ and their hit song, ‘Garbage doesn’t smell good?’
The letter concluded with a detailed experience at an Arby’s.
How will I act in a crisis situation?
I’ll cover my mouth. I will also be like smoke against that pink light, a lake-shaped key. Moving with animals, we stop in front of cars before they hit us.
It will go one of two ways –
once, I drove into water, pulled off my pants and jumped out the window, blue -jay, a finger snap, a one sound.
That being said – once
while running from police, I hid beneath a car and with something that close above me, I fell asleep.
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