weekend
pretend
things are where
they've always been

i wish i could unlearn it
revert to version 3
the salty unemployment blues
	take their toll on me

the mountains become heavy
her lips are pucker-free
the stars at night form foreign shapes
and lies told candidly

with twenty-two days
until the end of a life
my sould bleeds forth so
	evenly
down my cheekbones
	in the night

she's the rose on the plains
reaching skyward for the sun
it blows a kiss to all its fans
	but she's the only one,

when you lose a few
drowned your luck
wished you knew
who stole your magic touch.