Under The Rug

I've had to sweep the narratives
Under the rug that isn't there
(sold it, didn't want it, want a new one)
I tell familiar stories
Can't say I'm wrong but I'm bored
They could be bitter
Go in new directions
Cross the unwalked intersections
These aren't the stories I write
They're the ones I tell, I sell
Under pressure, no paper, no tiny keys
Just a mouth and a heart and eyes that seem
Too red when I wear orange

May 28, 2007