cold hands on my neck...
where are you?
where is the love that I loved?
The Talking Heads
are making me angry
with their songs
in the office.
my belly hurts
and the girl in the parking lot
represents the words we left behind,
but it doesn't feel the same way.
just as she doesn't feel the same way about me
as I feel about herm,
trail blocks, transitions, and lamp stands,
I am somewhere.
I am a ghost in a new house;
sure it's nice,
but it's not mine.
I could go,
but I don't know.
suffocation blues...