Put a flower in your hair
so I can see you at night
as you creep through the graveyard
re-animating the dicks
of the dearly deceased.
Trapped deep in the ground.
they are pushing up more than just daisies
when your black black soul passes by.
If only they could speak!
If only they could sneak a peak
through the dirt
beneath your polka-dotted skirt…
if only they could feel more
than the touch
of your black stilettoed heel
thudding in the overworld
If only they could comfort themselves with more
than the clip-clop clip-clop clip-clop
of you fading away
the sound haunting their memory so long
they’d swear it was their heartbeat
starting up again.
Mama always said to stay out
of dark places
but that’s where you shine
Even your dark dark hair
is washed out
in the bleach of that awful awful sun
but at night
let the wolves howl for you
the moon leads the way
to tonight’s show
don’t ever let them tell you no
life lives where the living don’t go
put a flower in your hair
when you pass by my grave.
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The Aspiring Writer 10.2: Michael Kazepis:
by Chris Lambert
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