Dear King Street of Alexandria VA,
I looked after you like a cop,
I swept your gutters as if they were my own,
Never mind my body ,I sold my soul on your corners,
Remember that time the filthy light shined down on that guy outside of McDonalds and I thought he was an angel,
Unlike the street sweeper that comes around when the driver isn't
drunk, I pay attention. I feel your needs because I am also alone
I cut myself and drain into you like some kind of sacrament, I think I
have it all figured out because I watch but you continue to surprise,
Just let me rest under your awnings for one more minute
Don't fall asleep first, it makes me lonley

If I could only touch you to convince you that none of this is real.

locked in place, on my soiled sheets, I never thought it would come to this, reliving the moments that I shared with you on the streets. I remember the time I sat with you in front of the old magazine shop, the one that sold the copies of The Anarchist's Cookbook, it was 3:32am, the pedophiles, willing to pay, circling the bock over and over like some kind of ritualistic dance, over and again. Where do these people get their energy? It was the time you drove me home only i had you drop me off a block away to keep you from finding out where i was living. In my mind i trace the corner of the street where you and Matt Monson got assaulted by black guys. To scare them you chanted witchcraft spells in spanish to them, it didn't work. I wish i could be there for you i wish i could sleep and then i could some how help you but i can't.

There is a hurricane forming off of the coast of Texas. They say that it will cause widespread destruction is several coastal cities.

I shattered in the alley in an alley off of Spring street.
I lounge is a half hearted slouch favoring the left.
I live with broken glass and a rejected flyer for a hampered artist support group. Sometimes I refuse to get up to relieve myself. The smell can be earthy, robust like some kind of couture scent wafting off the back of a female exiting a surgeons office after a consultation. Something inside of me tells me that one day I will be found and the refuse that keeps me company says not. So I see the shadows off of the cars illegally parked within my vision cast descending shadows and I sleep to never be waken up from my solitary dance.

This song is not anti American

this song is anti waaaaar!

If I could only breathe on you for just a second
with all the falcons circling above
even when all time dies and we are left with our good intents
even when the earth melts together like a scroll
Ill find you

I feel the water running in the gutter to take the pulse of the city,
If we could only lay in the interscetion, embracing, sensing the
energy of the beneath.
Rest in peace 42nd street,
I will never let you down again.
may the pidgeons carry you far into the morning
the morning that was once reflected in the puddles I
traced as a child