afraid
that i'd gone too wild
gone too wild and left you
i climbed into bed at three in the morning
with a longing body and a butterfly brain and heard,
on the BBC, a southern baptist
going on about a you i did not
believe in
and a you in whom i could take no
interest
and then i knew the dancing on the
edge is the only place to be
and you are still sitting on a volcano
in the desert telling
commanding strange folk:
come out to me