That face. Those words.
Those words. Dead girl.
I’m still spinning. She is
wherever, wherever
words are. She dwells
in sprouts and tokes.
She has survived
what came between
sets and us and years.
She was dreaming
something else besides
her father’s hidden stash,
her mother’s bad trip
on a rock ledge. Their skulls
don’t smile, but their hats
are hers. I loved her
hair and grooves,
miracle tickets and print
flowing skirts and how
she didn’t quote songs.
That means not fade away.
Oh, her dark brown curls,
bright smile, stardust
freckles and forearm down,
embraces from hours
of silence and need.
I love you, she said that time,
spinning solo in the light,
Her lyrics. Set list. Dead girl.
