lets sling our rain slicks over Februarys fantastic antlers
sprouting from the foreheads of world famous necromancers.
the winters looming like a bloodthirsty bird of prey.
and i guarantee by spring well either be world famous or goddamned dead.
guitar one fastens languid years to busty bones like dust and skin on a dull antique moon.
guitar twos touch keeps ruining lovers for other lovers
like jokers concealed in trick decks in our laps.
theres a train tumbling down torn paper tracks while weeds blossom from heartbeats that lack.
guitar threes dancing even though her song stopped playing ages and ages ago.
shes at an empty dance club suspended in the middle of a rambling sentence.
guitar four says, if you still believe in the grace of man,
let me introduce you to greedy greedy hands.
lets sling our rain slicks over every single second
to the rapture dripping from clocks ticking all our misadventures.
the winter left town with some seventeen-year-old waitress.
and springs laying in a pile of all the moments of our misadventures