cloud-poisoning & current events.

clouds come and go
like melodies
from guitars
held by boys that only know
how to move from town to town
and awkwardly offer there arms
for an evening,
a moment,
a chance at something bigger.


the big apple has a hook in it so don't be fooled.
my cheek has already been pierced.
that's why i stopped singing.
clapping for the boys with their easy songs.
easy words.
easy eyes that make it hard to look away.

but it was dark in that smoky bar when i met you,

& you never would have asked me to stay.