All night restaurant, North Kildonan. Luke warm coffee tastes like soap. I
trace your outline in spilled sugar, killing time and killing hope. This brand
new strip mall chews on farmland as we fish for someone to blame. But we
communicate in questions, and all our answers sound the same. Under sputtering
flourescents, after re-fills are re-filled. Negotiations at a stand-still,
spoon and rolling saucer stilled. If you ask how I got so bitter, I'll ask how
you got so vain. And all our questions blur together. The answers always sound
the same. We can't look at one another. I'll say something thoughtful soon, but
I can't listen to the quiet so I hum this mindless tune I stole from some dumb
country-rock star. I don't even know his name. It's like my stupid little
questions: the answers always sound the same.Tell me why I have to miss you so.
Tell me why we sound so lame. Why we communicate in questions and all our
answers sound the same.
|
