fumbling distractions

i'm not even old enough to drink but i'm too old to drink these days when i lie down and the room starts spinning. let's just ride all night instead till the sun shines vaguely behind this grey sky backdrop and we can jump into crunchy piles of temptation and autumn leaves behind the veggie stand while the one in glasses just shakes his head. i think i've got crumbs in my hair and ice between my toes. i can't believe yr married. i'm ready for new staircases leading nowhere, to landings with locked doors and haunted verticality.

no, like, really, it's night after night of ripped tights and twirling, and it's easy to forget the taste of lined paper, needle in hand. dustbin treasures and yr puppy dog grin in the mirror. we spin gears and back away. (what are you going to be for halloween?) i'm ready for ashtray grimaces and tired feet and endless highways and nothing but bright colors and luck to keep me safe.