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October 04, 2005
query
...looks like the wingman stayed over last night. the locks on the doors don't work -- I don't even have the keys.. there was a note on the coffee table this morning...
she said she's back but she ain't backshe's in another time zone
she's on another planet
there's a tornado chasin' her sweet ass
stirrin up trouble
stirrin up stirrinshe said she's back
but if she was
i could squeeze her
i could feel the heat in her
stirrin up trouble
stirrin up stirrinshe ain't back
i can't reach her
my arms ain't spaghetti
six hundred and ninety five miles long
she ain't
there was a note clipped to the wingman's crypticism, it said, "Wingman, we love your name but not your poetry. Best to you, Bibi Rebozo.
the wingman had written underneath the signature, Bibi Rebozo??? that's a name??
ps My plane got shot up pretty bad yesterday, I'll be away for a while.
there's music on, but it's the new moon and you can't really hear it right now, sound travels better through water, it seems. It's drowning, but a different kind of drowning, I think, this music.
who do you call when there's no one to call?
posted by matthew at 09:18 PM