Parfum meet these people go to their parties afraid they’ll tell you how they make their money dating daughters to the Restoration hiding bodies in woodgrain finish you can’t get over the stink under perfume and mask afraid they’ll take off their faces without the decency to ask can’t get over the stink ambivalence’s last act arise all ye cocktails soul falls deep, hard, and fast date these people running the country getting closer out of curiosity feeling tipsy falling between complicity and fatal fancies then you start to stink from childhood through now racing to the brink of your own thoughts you feel the stink as you come along the hell and the dream are the same parts
Poetry and Songwriting from the Bronx