noir

noir

this is capitalism 
and she knows it 

the world ends 
on the stage 
at her feet 

she spins around 
an entomologist’s pin 
the levers of doom knuckle back 

black lights 
a DJ 

at the bar 
Mary has a fan club 

she steps down 
like genocide 

she goes liquid 

you married 
buy me a drink 
she says 
you from here 

she is murder 

I 
cant 
look 

you’re rude 
anyone ever tell you that 

only you 
I say clouds in the alleys 
I can see the future 

she is simple 
with simple moods 

she leaves with me 
on high heals leaning 
into the mass 
of civil failures 
the murder of God 
pooling in the corners 

we leave together 
pretending again 
to be you 
anywhere but here 

then its just a room 
the carpet even matches 
the floor in the bathroom 

her hair is night 

after 
want to talk 

she says no 

because you will hear 
but not listen 

I know she is right 

so 
she smokes 
clouds again 
little silk funerals 
she shapes them into 
O’s 

where will we go 

going nowhere 
nowhere to go 

nothing left of us 
until tomorrow

Written by Mike Linaweaver
Posted on 03-16-13