birthday candles
are such a waste of energy
ah this place a dearth
here’s an old kiss to the moth
it’s nothing more than a box
full of telephones and
our love affair
with online directories
I’m going to run to a happy place now
I haven’t seen your artwork
in a word
this will be a phone call
spilled down my pants
I’ll go home and change
then we should try Montreal
you’re so catchy darling
and juvenile sex with redheads
but everything there is
full of telephones
and at the same time gives me
a nervous breakdown
have another margarita Lorca
realize everything sucks
except the mount
