Funny Taste
I'm gonna burn all
the pictures you have of me
and smear the ashes
on your kitchen forks
at breakfast you’ll taste me
and remember and wonder
where is she?
where did she go?
what have I done?
Spit, spit,
don’t forget
I'm now white spaces
in your hope chest
a torn page from your
nihilist philosophy
could I have been the cigarette
that you
just
could
not
finish
and now I'm the shit on some
pretty girl’s shoe
maybe she’ll kick you
I think I’ll
call
your
name
when your back is turned
and remember all those photos I burned?
I kept one for myself
it was the day you
tried
to
be
a
star
and burned out on the half-mile-mark
in a cloud of ashes
spit, spit
don’t forget
I'm the white space
in your black book, baby
could I have been that cigarette
you needed
so late
last
night
but now I'm on someone
better’s
lips