Song for the Quartet


On the wide screen of my heart
a crowd scene is showing
and the girl makes modest plans.

She won't cry, she won't return.
Tonight will mark the end
of drunken homage to broken imagery.

And she doubts
That they'll fall apart when she goes off
into the worst case scenarios

we become at parties.
Someone nudges a glass into her teeth,
they clank like soft loose change.

'Lord save me I will perish, Lord
save me I will perish.' The truculent organ
and her pulse grow fainter then recede.

Something will out in her
and on the last stretch of clean sand left alive
the swansong she haunts embrace her fairly

warmly- we're so at home here.
She's in the bathroom, smoking,
thinking 'I know this from before'
and standing out from her function entirely. 

Back to SOUP/Back to Cassie Lewis/

Forward to the poem Thoughts of a Long Distance Runner