Greek to Me
The bird mistaking glass for air
makes a heavy rain-sound on the window.
I am wearing my burnout dress
but today nobody seems to care.
I'd rather stop myself from poetry than force myself
to ice cream; something is always more
or less delicious depending
on where your tongue goes.
Anyone who dresses like Robert Smith
for Halloween should really know this by now.
Please don't call me kiddo,
there are so many people
I should have read and/or fucked by now,
it's almost embarrassing.
All my temples curling in on themselves
like when you enter me Cassiopeia-style.
When midnight stepped on my foot
my first thought was: This isn't as painful
as I thought it would be.
And I was wrong.
It hurt like everything.
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