I remember subtle differences.
Girls singing big-tit lullabies,
kneeling by the bed,
cupping their breasts in prayer.
Hips thrusting towards conversation.
Boys wasting their time.
Tiny hairs mounting their top lip
like side-burn discharge.
Newspapers read of a girl strangled
by a man. Somewhere in Northern, Indiana.
Overnight, 1999 grew cold.
Novelty became a tough act to follow.
I remember pay-per-views with Grandma,
a bowl of popcorn between us.
Time seemed frozen, the jukebox on quarantine.
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2 comments:
Chad, really dig this!
Glad to see that when you're not driving under semi trailers, you're updating your site.
People are writing up a storm. This really mainlines, as some THEY might say. DDL
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