This is My best friend's locker Without hooks, still catching metal. Crossing ponds with no plans for return.
Air-conditioned hum And 60% glass. Milking fangs into Baby food jars. You were never mine Picking flowers Black and white bathing suit Curious of a bee
Dear diary, I've become part of the problem.
Stroking automatic voice with shaking hands In the most trustworthy tin cans, On the way going anywhere but here, With a caravan of picketeers.
This is My best friend's locker Without hooks, still catching metal. Crossing ponds with no plans for return.
Travelling with bread crumbs in the company Of dogs falling in and out of the comfort of our Favorite chairs.
You were never mine Picking flowers Black and white bathing suit Curious of a bee
