i dug your show at lulu’s (on 113 franklin street between greenpoint ave and kent st) – m4w – 26 (williamsburg, borough of lost boys)

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-bleach blonde freedom-

*by someone who understands

more than he’d like to*

her hair’s bleach blonde flax. it was spun by a strung out rapunzel.

she’s losing her grip on youth. the tune she sings is a weary plea for its return.

grains of it remain in her palm. they’re moistened by blood trickling from small cuts. girlishly manicured fingernails are double-edged swords guarding sand of a time passed.

i lean on the railing of this damp balcony watching. it’s plain i’ll never speak to her. i won’t see her again either.

still, i watch while she moves with a desperate version of grace. i watch while her ballad carries a strained version of freedom to my ears.

i can’t see her eyes. i imagine an icy blue. eating-sized fish are frozen still inches below their surface.

my heart lowers.

i don’t get warmer. i don’t get colder. there’s no time for good-bye.

i turn my collar up to the night before facing it.*

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