Thursday, December 22, 2016

rain on sunday

and lovers lie and the
radio only ever plays static

the gift of all gods
is addiction

nothing left at the end of the day
but to fuck the blues away

a length of rope or a
line of coke and
she smiles once she’s made her choice

we take turns with the blindfold

we name the baby then we
raise it in a burning house

teach it right from
wrong at the water’s edge

a bitter kind of hope and
a beaten sort of faith

a lie between lovers
which i think i mentioned

which is all we really ever
need to make the sun
rise again

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