Sunday, 27 February 2011

Iced White Russians

We buy fresh bagels from the corner store
Where swastikas are spat from aerosols
I sit in the bar sipping iced White Russian
Trying to score but nobody's pushing
And everyone looks at everyone's faces 
Searching for signs and praying for traces of a conscience in residence
Are we sitting on a barbed wire fence
Racing the clouds home, racing the clouds home


Sent from my iPhone

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