You are beautiful as a telephone, colors
of bone, rocket ship, and cocktail lounge—
of bone, rocket ship, and cocktail lounge—
Hmm, says the neon sign, starting
an unfinishable thought.
an unfinishable thought.
Where do we go from here?
I’m a balloon,
each minute you don’t call is a breath
you blow into me.
each minute you don’t call is a breath
you blow into me.
I want to be the crackers in your soup,
I want to be your brass compass. Oh, mister,
just thinking about you curls the ends of my hair.
I want to be your brass compass. Oh, mister,
just thinking about you curls the ends of my hair.
The clock tisk-tisks.
Moon, you old spinster, don’t you mock me
with your pockmarks and your slow, slow travels.
with your pockmarks and your slow, slow travels.
Moon, what would you know, cold as cheese?
Hmm. Tisk-tisk.
Behind a far-off door, a thought about me is being formed
out of nothing but light.
out of nothing but light.
And when that phone does ring—
-Rebecca Lindenberg
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