the mafia lives in a bakery. the bakery is near the zoo. flash a card, step right through the door, but if not, kiss your buttered cakes goodbye. we'll take your money, your drugs, your wife, your rugs, beat them out, coat you in dust, and we'll eat your pastries up.
no ivy; buildings, fountains, angry trees as straight as they are slim. dead hearts, all bound up in ivy like slabs of pork bent into a tight clover by greasy twine, dangling on the handlebars of a chinese boy's bicycle.
i dream of dragons and those times when the compass no longer points north. i want to live in deadly earnest, by the skin of my teeth. break a hole in my hull; send me a monster in a crates; post an engine running wild off its tracks; i need to kill something big.
skewer it and spit its heart. i am a conqueror. give me an army and i'll storm anything you like so long as i can't hear its heart beating.
i grow more and more flippant each day, shouting goodbyes out train windows and feigning hunger as an excuse to cook. i'm digging up reasons, taking my trowel to the garden and unearthing the lies i planted not so long ago. i'll say anything if you'll let me fritter. i'll give you all my teeth if you'll leave me here; i'd trade my soul for something trivial.
i've made a crown of upended telescopes, everything must be three sizes smaller or i will burst. i'm that asthmatic balloon that's been loving too hard and crying too long. so i'm saying, that's not a dam near bursting, just a teacup filled too high.
i'm just so damn angry, anne, that the fat times are fading.
