Via the Migration
Julie pouts and her lip makes a shadow
She’s the fork in her very own road
Sit up! The mountains explode!
Nothing hurts like the process of letting go
Pretty sitting won’t repair anything in your head
But who could blame you if the lot of them left you for dead?
(Or maimed, your counselor said)
Something borrowed, something blue and black, you decide
He whispered nothing sweet then pleasured himself with your hide
Wake up! The chromosome lied
“This is it, this is it” you whisper to your cat
But change is more, though, than animist fiat
Go West! Get lean or get fat
© 2002 John Brocato
She’s the fork in her very own road
Sit up! The mountains explode!
Nothing hurts like the process of letting go
Pretty sitting won’t repair anything in your head
But who could blame you if the lot of them left you for dead?
(Or maimed, your counselor said)
Something borrowed, something blue and black, you decide
He whispered nothing sweet then pleasured himself with your hide
Wake up! The chromosome lied
“This is it, this is it” you whisper to your cat
But change is more, though, than animist fiat
Go West! Get lean or get fat
© 2002 John Brocato