bangbangsilverhammer
2008-11-08, 08:11
We're digging our names into the basement boards of historic hotels
with revolving doors and etched glass,
and linoleum chrysanthemums, perched on " can i help
you please?" front desks that
the receptionist has left empty and dry like an untreated open
sore,] while she shoos the women and men in too many coats
with too many outstretched hands,
chapped and swollen red like the apples of your cheeks after
crushing snow flakes with your arms and legs, you're
an animated mortar and pestle, smashing beautiful
angels into the backdrop of a gutter squatting winter wonderland.
The moonlight hangs heavily above
but the street lamps that guide our way through this
city that brought us together so many times,
zig-zagging though stained sidewalks, pin-up style skirts, and
24-hour donut shops with the strongest, most god-awful coffee
that burnt my tongue, and you made me drink the cold, cold
water out of those water fountains that look like gaudy
18th century replica art, the kind my grandmother promises
to give me when she dies, and I promise you I will never
decorate with when we move into a seventies Victorian on 23rd
street with the teal paneling and too large bay windows that stare
into me like a crystal ball, whispering secrets into my candy-apple ears,
because it's so damn cold here.
But I wonder how the poppies smell and how the heat
waves dance atop the blue and foam slamming
into the golden coast, where iridescent midriffs ripple beneath
our very own celestial body that defines what we call ourselves
when we travel places that don't understand progressive
movements that force the world to think in a direction
it never understood before, while the midriffs desperately grasp
for different shades of brown, smoking neatly rolled mounds of
'tobacco', reading about The Inferno and what it means to be
a sinner, so they drip drop coins to the nickeled-and dimed who piss
behind the Hilton, legs splayed like spindly cartoon frogs,
their hands calloused from steel strings and wrought iron edges
of the boxcars we found when looking for another life.
with revolving doors and etched glass,
and linoleum chrysanthemums, perched on " can i help
you please?" front desks that
the receptionist has left empty and dry like an untreated open
sore,] while she shoos the women and men in too many coats
with too many outstretched hands,
chapped and swollen red like the apples of your cheeks after
crushing snow flakes with your arms and legs, you're
an animated mortar and pestle, smashing beautiful
angels into the backdrop of a gutter squatting winter wonderland.
The moonlight hangs heavily above
but the street lamps that guide our way through this
city that brought us together so many times,
zig-zagging though stained sidewalks, pin-up style skirts, and
24-hour donut shops with the strongest, most god-awful coffee
that burnt my tongue, and you made me drink the cold, cold
water out of those water fountains that look like gaudy
18th century replica art, the kind my grandmother promises
to give me when she dies, and I promise you I will never
decorate with when we move into a seventies Victorian on 23rd
street with the teal paneling and too large bay windows that stare
into me like a crystal ball, whispering secrets into my candy-apple ears,
because it's so damn cold here.
But I wonder how the poppies smell and how the heat
waves dance atop the blue and foam slamming
into the golden coast, where iridescent midriffs ripple beneath
our very own celestial body that defines what we call ourselves
when we travel places that don't understand progressive
movements that force the world to think in a direction
it never understood before, while the midriffs desperately grasp
for different shades of brown, smoking neatly rolled mounds of
'tobacco', reading about The Inferno and what it means to be
a sinner, so they drip drop coins to the nickeled-and dimed who piss
behind the Hilton, legs splayed like spindly cartoon frogs,
their hands calloused from steel strings and wrought iron edges
of the boxcars we found when looking for another life.