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- Hanging From a Hit

 

What this night wants is what it gets,
strung in silken knots,
lit by cigarettes flaring side by side,
with the streets all wet,
as the only thing that's bright.
And I don't need to cross that bridge.
I find I'm swinging
or sailing over the pit tonight.
I'm hanging from a hit
tonight was wild enough
to order up and toss across my lips.
What's making all my tears is taking
all my fears away. But I don't need to cry,
because now I'm clear.
A moth that's swerving through the sage.
A creature crashing from a cage.
A shadow vaporized by a new sun ray.
A day she spends the night, and I can hear her sighing
as she's almost asleep on one side,
and I lie back on my pillow and ask what her husband is like.

And she says, "I smile polite,
and I tip and tithe,
and I see the sights with a well-trained eye.
But I calmly cry,
because I'm too much mine without him.
And I lie, reclined where the room is quiet,
and it's quiet at night.
The soft silk is fine
and the waves are white,
but the wind has died without him.
And I scream my smiles,
and I want my wires and I need my stripes.
And I read the lines until I lid my eyes,
and I'm losing time without him.
And I ignite inside
and I flash with fire
and I limp from life
and I'm blazing blind
and I'm surging live
and give up my mind
when with him.
And then every dream inside turns to flames,
fades to grey, and is dying. And the smoke rises
into a white, blank, bare, broke-open sky."

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