MOOD PROCESSOR

hey honey, how's she doing?

i don't get nervous driving home at night.

nervous

the fire on the highway doesn't make me nervous

eating someone cradled shrunken alive

the silver demons crawling don't make me nervous

slipping under my tires

as i pour boiled water into the bathtub

i miss my baby

and he misses me back.

bleeding out of me

how's she doing?

her hair's growing out, now,

over her sun-tanned shoulders.

she wanders around dallas on fridays.

it's where she learned to jaywalk.

i know, i know, that hair's getting long,

a golden tide down her spine.

let's keep boiling water.

this writing might as well be prophecy -

electric now, illuminating future me.

can't help it bleeding,

don't you know, dallas child?

with a museum pass for one.

we've seen her around.

and i'll talk to me later,

when the credits roll with his name.

i wonder what she'll think now.

i wonder what she'll think then.

my baby knows all about time travel,

an hour lost somewhere in the sky -

lavender, lemongrass, lime.

teach me to travel through time.

i'm sick in the mind.

it's an infection of the heart.

he's been asking, i feel it,

coming off the waves of the west coast,

catching onto my split ends.

how's she doing?

in your split-lipped apologies through my brother.

he's heard the whispers,

everyone left as she held on longer than the rest.

and when you left for denver,

what did you know that I did not?

nothing.

you knew it all.