Friday, June 20, 2008


soup cans
stacked like plastic candy-canes
their irridescent glow
sprayed across her face
just like paint
etched away in every line
curling across time and space
words can't describe
the emotions hidden, behind those burnt blue eyes
neon, just like her hair, peroxide blond
dyed badly in someone's bathroom sink
in some hotel
on Hastings street,
where the guilded buildings gleam
with summer sweat on a humid day, they
look long shadows
at those below them.
molded lace curtains
sputter in the false breeze, that chudders up from
the thick buses below,
like cheap liquor and raunchy cigarrettes,
woven into her hair,
just like the braids she wears
put in so long ago
by somebody else, who didn't really care.

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