open air



It is the morning of dread
The calling of Christmas
And the bells tolling
Like an alarm
My skirt has risen up to my belly
Crumpled collars
And a heavy head
I am dead again
like a sack to a bin
I am full of things
But I see infront of me
A door frame closing in
Shoes entering
The shopowner was looking at him
I could see from here
The money peeks from the counter
In large bills
It was the look of green
Like a fresh vegetable
sprayed on with water
You would know
it could tell you great things
About Christmas
The busy days were coming
Again
Soon the lady living in the
Where
 I could see her balcony at the top of my head
knobs are heard to be turning
And a cigarette comes to view
She had a lovely hand
it makes it hard to move
And look away
So in the lump that was too heavy
The ash eventually rained on me
Like shining stars
But all things from the sky
When they come to us
Are lies
they turn to dark
So
I woke again
and when I opened my eyes
I could only see the sky from
A distance
in a room full of people
Where we are told
how cars could fly.

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