Almost Summer

Almost summer in the almost city and the air is almost still
The green-eyed red-socked black-penned genius is thinking about the kill
His hair is cropped and brutal
His skin is soft and cold
He misses what he misses
He's in on the joke, out with the old

By the time I get to June
And its spare parts and spent hearts
I hope to be rid of
The broken pearls, the spy glass
I hope to be free of
The all-night curses, the never nurses
And their almighty grins
As I cleanse away their sins
And give mine another shine
For the first time

Now my task is
To clean my head, put on my tie
To learn if my fate is a good one
Or neutral, in need of a dislodging
Almost summer in the almost city and the air is almost still
There's a moment before that moment when he free-kills his free will

May 4, 2009