two hands that started building unbelievable excuses.

hairpin turn on a dusty road. golden uproar. raspberry sermon on the radio, bad banter. pleasure before business, the mighty fine dust highway. charisma the color of pears sliding down your dashboard.

i took lessons five, nine and eight. did it to shield myself from your panther instincts. it's always the same routine. sit on the sofa the color of dry blood and light a cigarette. swipe your claws at air and pounce upon me.

revest yourself, motormouth.

a gathering in a public square. you are with others of your kind. a panther, a cougar ,a leopard. you are with a girl who regrets ever laying eyes on the 1980s. you are with a boy whose black cape has flowed over the body of every pretty girl whose heart stopped spending because of a spirit that was never nurtured to bloom gracefully. i want you to say you'll never believe Nostradamus because he received his prophecies from mud castles with towers shaped like infinite.

1980
1981
1982
1983
we can erase these years, silly girl from Mississippi. will the 1980s be okay then?

"no, there's still 1978 and 1979, and those years were especially bad."