Quadira

‘She's really just my crew, maybe you can make me wise', powdered with a smile of glue, at the bar i pray, for a something better time, who can stand this shame. we talk of bitter fruit, and sip at lonely wine, my partner has a screw loose, the ones at other tables, done with her blues, keep clear of yesterday’s game, nothing here to frighten, just the yellow signs, of a poet becoming excited, that her carnation will shine, acts like she always knew, does this desert worry you, who are these writers ?