imiss you.

The boys were born of gasoline,

one spark away from burning

like rocket children into the night

air. And wherever they went, a dense

haze of sweet-tasting yet gag-inducing

confusion was sure to follow. The girls

loved the smell of their flammability.

They captured it in mason jars and

snuck it home underneath their white

dresses. The glass jars, filled with so

much passionate vapor, would clink

from below the beds. Soft noises

that made them feel open all over.

The boys knew this, especially the red

one with the funny face, and they loved it.

Maybe I might taste you tonight

in some empty stinging glass

or see your face like rosy sunshine

in the darkened crowd before the band.

They are swelling with emotion,

everyone around. "Stay with me"

we plead together, "don't want to be alone,"

but we can't pick up the telephone,

or stand the smell of what we are at home:

just ourselves. Our poor, tawdry

ass-dragging backwards little selves.

Sleeping on it, sleeping on it so,

sleeping with it, keeping with it

cause we can never let it go.

carmen bajo

carmen bajo el cielo

andando hacia un grupo

nuevo de olores,

sabores, na na na

no importa, na na na,

no importa si nos vemos

o mas tarde, si, si, si me quedo

carmen bajo los portales

azules de la calle

esa fuente ya no tiene

agua pa tomar

y si murieramos de sed

aqui despacito en la plaza

mandare tus huesos

tus besos por los ciclos

de mis ultimos alientos.

asi, creo que todo

seria bien.

bien? bien. bien? bien.

biennnnn.