I wish you were my cousin, so I would be forced to hang out with you (best compliment I've received) poetry and art at http://murooned.tumblr.com/
It was all rain, gays, and spring rolls (the occasional stairs too).
Any of them could have been Michael Stipe if they had any inclination.
It’s how cowboy gentlemen know how to but don’t play the accordion.
What happened to all the glass slippers?
All the little black girls at midnight turn to prison shivs.
People used to wear palm leaves,
unisex skirts with nothing in imagination, ditch dead.
We’re going all in on the exhaust pipes,
resigning themselves to brown on one end
like mediocre cigarettes.
Other people bet on the telephones poles,