Yesterday, 06:26 PM
Amy
In some lean friend’s apartment, or a hotel room
gigged out by Island, tapping to the amped guitar,
toque of stormy bees on her dramatic head
more than half-toppled, hanging on for life
like everyone you’ll ever know. The song
pours out her body like a siren,
light climbs down a curtain, there’s an ashtray steaming
on the bureau underneath Kandinsky, she is picking gently
at withdrawal through her jeans. Don’t ask me
how I know. Someone turns the doorknob, the guitarist
tugs your heart out through your stomach, and it’s something
in the way she rolls her eyes to heaven
like she’s looking for approval
when she hits the high, and the crowd below
collapses into one immense romantic O,
scatters east and west like little leaguers
with their hands spread out to catch the last fly ball
of every summer. Suddenly she’s gone
before her voice should break, or anything
as precious as a child.
In some lean friend’s apartment, or a hotel room
gigged out by Island, tapping to the amped guitar,
toque of stormy bees on her dramatic head
more than half-toppled, hanging on for life
like everyone you’ll ever know. The song
pours out her body like a siren,
light climbs down a curtain, there’s an ashtray steaming
on the bureau underneath Kandinsky, she is picking gently
at withdrawal through her jeans. Don’t ask me
how I know. Someone turns the doorknob, the guitarist
tugs your heart out through your stomach, and it’s something
in the way she rolls her eyes to heaven
like she’s looking for approval
when she hits the high, and the crowd below
collapses into one immense romantic O,
scatters east and west like little leaguers
with their hands spread out to catch the last fly ball
of every summer. Suddenly she’s gone
before her voice should break, or anything
as precious as a child.