pulp common people

sweet
so
you’ve seen it then?

how it overlaps
and flows
in directions
it’s not supposed to?

and since you’ve left
have you any clue
how it’s gotten?

like some new screwdriver blue?
like some unknown duck
do?

you go
you go and we go with you until
the dance margin forgets you
and the hardship it’s such
a fucking hangover

it could break your
nails off
in the keyhole
to be free

they were never easy
pieces and
you will never have them
regardless

of how close
we came
and you would still sing
its name

as sacrosanct
and petty
beyond it all

I want to make a tired wing
of your arms, lurching misandry
I want to tease your hair,
to dance on the command
of this tempo

(although first)
you need to know things
that could only ever be shown

shewn,
screwn,
doomed,
and loomed

along the song slung
harp
of our poor nights

(you cannot)
have them, for
have they, no matter,
how close,

we came, to kissing them,
just, burning bday candle bodies,
lain against cheap stain glasses,
with ease

and we will crawl
and we will creep
and we will crescendo

above the holler,
just to say…

Taxi,

Taxi…

Taxi!

And ease
into the casey load
of another Anthony

who doesn’t know
he’s just another
new york city
detective’s depiction
by tv’s finest

and in turn you help me
to know the causative
difference
between those

and me
and mine
and hoist me,

up into the booth
from when’s I can
claim
some sort of soon
becoming,

and reach me
three days from
the
shadow
of the crime,

of believing, for once,
we might be fine
(but also fucked)

to ruins,
sand, crushed fine,
let me go,
into that mind,

and when I come back
ill let me
be mine

I’ll let him
get shines,
get kinds
all manner
of them,
those clean highs will

be all the
worth having
suspending inches
from, for so fucking
many, many years.

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