Saturday, January 24, 2009


We ate the fruit’s the earth
And the music cut our appetite
We bicycled towards the band

Their melodies spilled on the sidewalk
And we rode over them without fenders
So they could massage our backs

The owners always look weary
When the weather changes
They told the band to keep playing

They kept hoping for seafood
Trusting in beer as if it were rain
Examining the newspapers
Their money turning into clay

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