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{oh voleur} tasha cotter Slipping on wettened glass in a wavy light I was caught. Hands out And lifted to a local foosball table. One eye landing on a fading face. In this wasteland I appear by a sinking creek of vodka And we are near a spotty forest of dancers Dancing to something trendy and electronic. Then the song with words is cut off. As I exit all recognition I feel My fist shoot up like a whitened bulb Wanting to burst the earth Of your cheek. I start to think The steps are axed to bits. I look around for a clearing, But the voices that are there Are like inescapable shades of moods I want to get a hold of myself To stop the music. To stop you. |
