• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 11
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new wave

life’s getting in the way of that Indochine kick
New Wave today is so passé, fingers clipped ‘round bottles of possibly we shared a dream
believing in passing trains with promises of talking to tall strangers and being captured inside their breath like stage performers
thrashing at the newborn youth raging in the front row – reed arms a crossword of three across four down; take me take me
our world is where the news melts and eyes head bang, crisp as a flute

it’s true ideas can be not so safely forgotten
rolled over to discard the grit, making way for jaunts in spring and climbing dogs over cot walls and
put to bed, tied safely up, in the memories of the dead,

but I was once in that row, my body eagled up the sweat, sound drowned by tomorrow’s nonchalance

don’t let me go to sleep yet, Indochine cut and pasted on the cusp