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Say a Prayer For My Soul, Senorita
It is not so cold anymore
the gun has gone off
it echoes into the wall
someone has opened their veins onto the
hardwood floor
I hear sex upstairs,
it is fierce, undying
the ceiling quakes,
kisses my ear with a fist
I cannot, go on
it is cancer that eats me
arthritis
multiple sclerosis
alcoholism
bipolar disorder
talk of change
six pennies for every dollar
I could very well, go on
But I've no solid point.
Darling.
I carry a mass order
my clavicle is chipping under these phone calls
and you are too kind to
tell me what is brutal
you sweet sweet thing.
you keep a quiet grave knowing,
there are many bones buried in the south
