Written by Shari Caplan/Madam Betty Boom
Count street lights when you’re unsure
how far you’ve walked
under the fluorescent suns of cities
thinking you’re a coyote
which legs are your legs are your legs are you
how many times tall tragedy can repeat
Let the plane fall back from you
as the camera pans the present
as the camera forgets my scene
your eyes will find horizons in every passing skirt
in every passing horizon a present.
Drinks with names like Lemon Scorpion
served on silver delivered to you
will cover your mind with my lips like the curtain
will curtain your lips like night in the desert '
served on silver delivered by you
with a grimace
you grimace most charmingly and get away with this
get away
will sizzle hot as your nerves, hands in my shirt
you hand a horizon into my shirt
can I keep it?
Stand in the cool grotto and press
your head to pink stucco
messages to me I’ll never read
because they’re sand-writ
because you mean nothing by them
because you mean nothing to me
except sunflower stalks shot through my ventricles, blue planets swinging backwards, frustration of pendulums, houses painted and ready for families who can’t find the key to what they’ve already mortgaged, red wax peeled from lucky cheese like lips from lips from my luck to your lips to you oh you oh you oh love oh too
But this is about your journey.
Strip naked in the ocean
an exercise in impermanence if someone (not me) steals your pants (though I would)
an exercise in feeling how cold you are
could you feel where you are
can you feel the limb you lost
which legs are your legs are your legs are you
where there are actresses in bikinis
you’ll never think of me again
there are actresses in bikinis you’ll never think of again.
Think of me again.
Write your movie
from a hill looking at plastic people.
from the hill of your un-climbable heart,
king of the mountain, with no attendants.
king of a mountain with only room for one.
not about impossible futures, but in the breath,
to bring you home wherever you take it, like a plane
You don’t know if you’re ready to board.
You’re ready
I am selfish.
I have no room.
Only for you.
Count street lights when you’re unsure
how far you’ve walked
under the fluorescent suns of cities
thinking you’re a coyote
Let the plane fall back from you
I am selfish.
Drinks with names like Lemon Scorpion
you hand a horizon into my shirt
can I keep it?
Stand in the cool grotto and press
except sunflower stalks shot through my ventricles, blue planets swinging
But this is about your journey.
Strip naked in the ocean
you’ll never think of me again
Write your movie
to bring you home wherever you take it, like a plane
You don’t know if you’re ready to board.
You’re ready.