I found her on the night of fire and noise
eyes flashing about in the rain,
she smiles at me,
I try to tell her I’m in love with a disconnected art form
but she’s already walked away
towards a yellow taxi
ready to fly,
a hobo asks me for change and I say,
“get her hands off my heart”
he says, “buddy, all
I want is a quarter, you got bigger problems”,
and neither of us
have umbrellas
she forcefed me gorgeousness at gunpoint and
fired her squad with battleship hips,
attacking her fine physique with words, I
still have no chance
she says I should write about her more and I say
you can’t type on a gun,
the words would be bullets and I would
kill my neighbors,
punch holes in everything I own, and she
smiles at me again, in a flash,
so I’m looking for
ammunition
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