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"She can read. She can read. She's bad... she puts the waits into my little heart... it's in the way that she looks. her heaven is never enough...."
Narcissi was day drinking.
it was the last day of her pretend Irish vacation.
fuck
it
She gave so little fucks that it was hard to give
whatever that meant.
she had already stomped her feet and sang until her throat hurt
no one was listening.
she had a charity
house now
with yards
She recalled being the kid who heard all these songs and wanting so much to be someone. Now she of course would settle for being settled.
it was all
a shock
this growing up
when she knew many
probably even her
just got an older shell
for the same old shit
she of course wishes he could be singing and dancing with her
like at an opium den in Paris
but that was never going to happen.
the most she could hope for would be dollar oysters
at
the last
bar
they ever
played at
she was going to have to un-mythologize him
but good luck doing that
forever
he would now be ensconced as
the bob Dylan lyric hating
cutting
bmw 2001 without a back bumper green
docksider Sebago
Mexican restaurant wearing
cognitive sviene major for vassar
cocaine to beta band
and selective progeny
and tallulah gorge
and and and
he was gone.
to her.
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