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SUNDOWN BLUES I get sad at sundown beautiful day that turns mean is this why it's called happy hour to punish what light does to me before the moon takes over I'm hungry but I can't eat what I have in mind is time but time is cruel to my need I can't unwind so I sit and wait smoke weed, scour the plates being strong by myself isn’t all it's cracked up to be When the sun finishes the job the dishes drying in the racks the moon making love with my blues—I'll feel good again I'll get into my burning bed enjoying my fine body alone but the hungers I maintain after the sun goes down ain't going nowhere as I get older -------------------------------------------------------------------------- GET USED TO IT Not used to it. I’m well aware of it. Not used to feelings like this. What is it called. When you enjoy feeling like that. What everybody else is so used to doing. You know it. Should you? Could you? Would you know it if you want to. When you really want impossible/possible. I’m not used to wanting. Feeling good. With people. Really safe. You know what I mean. I’m not used to it. It’s been too long. So long I’ve been used to it. My time. is their body. For them, I give. But it’s different. I’m getting used to liking it. Getting used to when you only like it when you really want it. Really really need it. Like really good. Bodies wait. They wait until they can’t forget they have a body. My body was there for people to like. Now I like it. Look here. Look there. Still getting used to this. Now. My body is shaking something. I analyze, I analyze, I feel somebody, it’s me, going into it, slowly turning it on, getting used to wanting me back. Feels differently this time doesn’t it. I’m a woman and I need it really bad. I want it real bad. I want it bad, so bad -------------------------------------------------------------------------- PEACEMAKER When you enter me, it's ceremonial I hold you in with perfect anticipation, before we quicken the salted waters. No shallow entanglements here. No borders or militarized boats chasing after our heathen freedom. Mmmm hmm, we say. Yes, I will sing for you. Everyone is wrong when they agreed upon naming it the little death– |
