Early Bird Superstar
Styrofoam and heat and smoke
and all the in-betweens.
Apartments, small, across the road
in superimposed tall buildings.
He doesn't hug me anymore,
just sorta pats me on the shoulder,
he was always too young for me, you see
my men are always older.
Sidewalks, cemented burial grounds,
we can dream all day.
Slip back into our habits,
the worlds asleep and will never awake.
I guess it's that kind of mentality
that keeps me on this path,
thinking about our planet now,
and then the aftermath.
But if I can concentrate on this,
a styrofoam, glorious moment,
then I don't feel like a hypocrite,
I feel loved and I feel older.
Now the look in his eyes is so tragic,
I hold his hand for the closing prayer.
I want to ask him for reassurance,
but he knows that life's never fair.
If everything was balanced,
like his ratio of coffee to me,
then why would we be waking up early,
from our styrofoam, heat + smoke dreams?