the good morning show

Bad.
it's so bad.

she shines
like a tiger
on its deathbed.
her fragrance
is her own,
and it fills
everything.

it's bad.
it's so bad.

she is sweet;
she could kill you
in her sleep.
i have the heat
she radiates
tattooed
to my forehead.

yeah,
it's bad.

i have seen
buildings burning
in her eyes;
i've seen her cry
and i felt like
a shepherd
in a nativity scene:

every morning
i take a bath
in those tears
and then i fall down
the drain
and end up naked in the ocean.

i've been the rapist
and murderer
in her dreams,
but mostly i hide behind
the one where
she feels like she's drowning,

and right
as she's
about
to
breathe
in

i POP UP
and scare her awake

but she forgets about me oh!
soon as the real world forgotten!
rushes to her cold face
and it's morning.

and then in MY dreams
no one keeps ME from drowning:
and there is a blank space
between the night
and the morning
in which i lay wondering

WHY
her smooth limbs
did not
pull me out
of the water
and
kiss
me
awake.

it's like the good morning show.

soon as i'm awake
i want to go right back to sleep
right away
to see if--maybe--she'll be there
this time,

but no:

it's a short
rhoutine vision
where i'm washing
my hands
again and again
until the alarm sounds
and it's time for work.