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From my collection, "The Bad Seed". E-mail me if you are interested in purchasing it.

SONGS ARE LIKE TATTOOS


tHIS night/ i am strung up as two CATs on heat/ up the
wALLs & halfway cross the ceiling/ REELING/ three in tHE
fucked up MORNING/ screaming (silently, in the silent
city).
dreams
have
gone
to
sleep.
and a mILLion teleVISION sets
sits cOLDly, lonely, in forgotten corners/ and i sit, cold,
alone, in the blue, untalking light/ wishing wishes &
pissing into the hurricane.

Out there/ in the dARKness/ another window BLAZES out
tungsten sorrow/ high frequency tension/ a fellow
sufferer, reviling against mORPHEUS’s caress for
free in the morning, dark madness.

But this is not the Chelsea Hotel/ Joni Mitchell is not
at her piano, playing “Blue”.