I am that girl who sat
unmoving in the chrome/Formica diner --
rain poured on the window,
her coffee skinned over,
and a cigarette burned up
toward her hand.
I am the peasants trudging home,
mud-ice clung to rag bound feet.
They passed sullen remarks until,
in the deepest part of the woods,
a wolf howled.
More precisely, you're the assassinmud-ice clung to rag bound feet.
They passed sullen remarks until,
in the deepest part of the woods,
a wolf howled.
before the film really began,
who assembled his rifle from perfect metal segments
behind the parapet
on the roof--
--I only do that,
because you are the housewife
alone in the old house when the lights went out,
her hands shook, she fumbled the matches,
and surrendered to fear.
We've each been a montagebecause you are the housewife
alone in the old house when the lights went out,
her hands shook, she fumbled the matches,
and surrendered to fear.
of searching old files,
newspaper cuttings, dust and photos;
towards an unwelcome truth.
We're both sometimes the couple,
long at odds and throats,
who stumble from the disaster
to exchange a look of love renewed.
long at odds and throats,
who stumble from the disaster
to exchange a look of love renewed.
But one day...
we may become the hero,
surely dead,
clambering back over the cliff
to move towards the villain
and nothing will stop us,
not any more.
we may become the hero,
surely dead,
clambering back over the cliff
to move towards the villain
and nothing will stop us,
not any more.