FALLOW

ONE BUMP ON THE HEAD AND SHE LOST HER WHOLE WORLD
NOW LET IT BE SAID SHE WAS A HARDY GIRL
WORE HER HANDS FISTED AND HER TIRE TRACKS TWISTED
IN AN INFINITE FIGURE EIGHT TO THE BAR
BUT ONE SLUMP IN THE CURVE AND SHE SPUTTERED AND STOPPED
SHE LOST HER NERVE AND HER HANDS JUST DROPPED IN HER LAP
SHE SAT TO WAIT FOR A MIRACLE OF FATE FOR TO
PICK HER UP IN IT’S GEAR GRINDING ARMS

AND THE GRASS GREW AROUND HER
AND THE SUBURBS SEEPED OUT OF THE CITIES
TO ENCIRCLE HER FALLOW LITTLE FORM
AND AS SHE WOKE FROM HIBERNATION
TRIED TO FIND HER TRUE VOCATION
SHE WAS LOST IN THE WASH OF THE SHALLOWS OF THE NORM

ONE TRUMP IN HIS HAND AND HE LOST HIS WHOLE SOUL
NOW LET IT BE SAID THAT HE WASN’T BORN COLD
HE HAD WORN HIS BELIEFS ON THE TIPS OF HIS TEETH
HE HAD BITTEN HIS OWN TONGUE NEAR IN HALF FOR THE CAUSE
BUT ONE JUMP IN THE RANKS AND HIS LIPS SLAMMED SHUT
HE SMILED AND HE NODDED AND HIS TEETH GREW BLUNT
HE SAT TO WAIT FOR A MIRACLE OF FATE FOR TO
SPIT HIM OUT OF IT’S GEAR GRINDING JAWS

AND THE GRASS GREW AROUND HIM....

HE HEARD A BUMP OUT HIS WINDOW ON A WINTER NIGHT
WELL SHE WAS CAUGHT LIKE A RABBIT IN HIS RAZOR WIRE
HE OPENED THE DOOR SLOW SAID “WHERE WERE YOU TRYING TO GO”
SHE SAID “JUST TO THE NEXT TOWN WHAT EVER IT IS, IS IT FAR?”
HE TOOK HER INTO HIS TOWER AND SHE TOOK HIM APART
HE FLEXED HIS POWER AND SHE RACED HIS HEART
SHE HUMMED AS SHE WAS DRESSING
HE WAS NUMB AND KIND OF STRESSING
THEY WENT OUT FOR A DRINK AND HE LOST HER AT THE BAR

AND THE GRASS...

fall 95 new orleans
© 1998 MYSHKIN