The devil knows my name,
My full name.
And the load is so blazingly right up on me.
Up against my ol' china dolls and crystal deco trays for ash bout' time.
I bet I could pluck a violin if I had too.
Why can't you speak?
Why can't you just tell me what you see?
I forget about these songs and then I listen to them over and over again.
And it's not like I ever thought of myself as unattractive.
It's just that I really really never wanted to be beautiful for anyone.
I only wanted to sit cross legged in the attic sneezing and wheezing my way through the spotted full length glass.
Got a mass thread of information about step grand dad's trip to the sick.
Haven't seen him in a decade or two but wish him ease and sunny flutter what you will go I.
There is so much step and half in law gone by, even I forget, I, your dutiful preservationist.
Oh wait, that's the other one, she has a child, full blood, two easy branches, no apples yet, just crust and carmeled sugar.
What happened to those hiding places?
And you speak about your disorders so eloquently once the sheets have turned themselves down and the men have left the room for the night.
And it's going to take a while.
But, you crave some sort of peace down in your bones.
I look damn fine in cowboy boots with ribbons.
I won second place this Saturday at the Haymarket.
Two drink minimum writing contest.
They called my name into a microphone, and the one little devil in the corner of the Kentucky Home Derby raised his head to nod.
I have gone this way.
I have led myself to this pile of cotton, and nails.
Call me sir.
I don't believe in the mam.
I can be so dramatic, especially once I have set a deadline on my table.
Dr. Un Rooley is depending on you.
Counting the petals on your floor.
The way you long for Dempseys and Toms and pedestals on loafers until you can reach the net yourself never never will cause you are not just small but girl tired girl waiting for the men to come back into the room with their listening eyes I will tell them what happened before balconies and fanned out fans of Atticus! Atticus!
Did they kill his mocking bird songs? Or was he born that way? Tell me
It's time my little cannon balls/Only hurts for a second/All over me/Have some special guests with us/Nazareth is a beautiful name for a place/Dum/Dum/Hummmm/Ummm/Um.
~Medicine of skin on toast