So what do you want me to say?
My mind has become
A Springsteen horror film,
Old car fantasies falling to grit;
Maria’s Dead End Dancefloor on E Street.
Yet the girls sway to the music
And smoke things they shouldn’t,
And the Gaslight Boys tell us to
Write as we would love to read.
These words just don’t make sense any more
So tell me you want them – need them –
Lines rough cut from a cascade,
Stacked on shelves with empty picture frames
For gathering dust.
For if your mind wanders to me again.
Note: I do not own the image above. Teresa Young, I think, though I’ll stand corrected; http://bit.ly/14l44Lj