As if the death masks on the walls could talk
a tiny beetle is crawling out of the eye socket of the skull
The ska checkerboard takes a King
wicked into the dawn
she asks again and again
for a light
puffffffing slowly on a cigarette
avoiding life.
Avoiding life is not the same as suicide
to jump in front of a train
is not heroic but there's more action there
than inside of her
as she dances with delight
rings a tiny bell
I hear an echo of this chance at freedom
boredom and ennui are her past times
I picture her with opium
on a Friday night.
