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Lay me down in a hearseback, it's where my new best look is at. |
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If I slit a purse or two then I can't curse if my cake is cooked and minor veins are mapped. |
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These tits not filled with milk, these cold bones wrapped in hunger |
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Like a bundle of sticks in a fire so slow it leaves them unburned, black and yearning. |
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Will this new year's see my rotting hair's release? |
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Will my new black book pull the sick from my deepest creases? |
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-A gift from The Maccabees to mom to me, |
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No more flier backs or receipts, using magazines for tables. |
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A girl's down bed and corresponding naked wings unable |
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When I felt my ribs come closing slow, a row of snakes set to strangle |
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I am survived |
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Lay me down in a hearseback, it's where my new best look is at. |
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If I slit a purse or two then I can't curse if my cake is cooked and minor veins are mapped |
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But you might find me in the white pages yet, my name is next to numbers |
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Like someone's father's father: left listed in the book of numbers, |
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Like someone's father's father: left listed in the book of numbers. |
