Her body is a difficult sister, and she loves her,
and hides her somewhere in herself safe from harm
She's barely coasting into a paycheque, stuck on empty
Her blue eyes frozen green in the low-lit ATM
I need a way to measure the distance
I need a way to say why,
out of breath or out of key, her voice resonated in me
Her body is a difficult sister, and she loves her,
and hides her somewhere in herself safe from harm
Her night shift is over,
she's writing you a postcard to say that she's okay
and it's raining there again
My fury's rising faster than bus-fares
Could someone clarify why there's no structured narrative?
No neat story-line to explain?
Wish on everything
Pray that she remains proud and strange and so hopelessly hopeful
(Wishes and prayers are the way that we leave the lonely alone
and push the wounded away)
She shoplifts some Christmas gifts,
and a bracelet for herself, and considers phoning home
Has some quarters in her hand
But she sits down on the sidewalk and bites her bottom lip,
and spends the afternoon willing traffic-lights to change