With the answers in the fluid in the stem of the spine

In the black-coffee bowl of your eye

Why do you overestimate the size of the lie?



I've seen

The dangers of

Your rising sign

But I swear

Id like

To drink the fuel straight from your lighter

It's all inside the wrist, it's

All inside the way you time it

I resent the way you make me like myself



My nerves jump

Like a boiling pan

Like a skillet full of oil spits,

Rattling on the burner

When I stumble onto the thought

Of the match you lit and dropped and set the

Dial to slow yearn



Can I spell it out?

Should i spell it out?