demented and sad but sort of social

there's a café right up from the street
that serves bagels and "new york style hot dogs"
and i stood there in awe, wondering
is this what the united states is...
pickles and sickly sweet doughnuts
and a&w root beer?

i have no idea what to believe
you can't believe your eyes
you can't believe your ears
your mouth moves so fast that
the words seemed blurred
like rain running in ropes down my window

it gets dark so quickly here;
it's not even one o'clock where you are.
what are you having for lunch?
what are you writing about today?
i get sad thinking about your letters
so many other people read them
and somehow it maks them better
knowing that people are trying to figure you out
like me.

i get you sometimes, big brother
but other times i'm just as lost as you are.

the patron saint of the scene

it's so eerie
to look at my life
with a mirror of somebody that knows
(big brother, i love you)
somebody with sparrows and guns
whose skin stretches so clean
tomorrow she'll be burned alive
and then canonised.
i was thinking of writing an autobiography
but then i realise
it'll just be a memoir
of all the people i've met
(do you remember the first thing you said to me?
i do. have you ever wanted to gut yourself
for someone?)
i haven't found the ground yet
i'm afraid of slamming into you.