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Writer's picturedreaming of lulu

dryin' flowers at midnight


the bugs are a screechin’


leavin’ parties first and gettin’ there last

takin’ care of the woman through the looking glass

she’s in all black and she loves to hear the clock tick past


21:00.


the bugs are a screechin’


I’m gigglin’ loud with the girls down Lamar

we don’t have anywhere to be

we drive until we see beyond who they were wantin’ us to be


checkin' off lists as i smile through the sweetness of life

no red wine tonight

not trying to be anything to please another as i take flight

only concerned with what i’ll say to the sun when we reunite


the bugs are a screechin’


fillin’ my own cup o’ honey ‘fore the baby gets fussy

stomping down, let me walk in first

i’ll get to wear my airport jeans to work


flowers cuffed on my wrist

listenin’ to their whisper as i bloom with ‘em too


and when my petals fall off

i dry ‘em with the moon

and say,


i loved the way you looked last June.


the bugs are a screechin’

so take time to listen

it’s a pretty old tune

rooted in solitude


not alone ‘fore i’ve got the moon

the girls

my folk

and my momma too.


cultivatin’ a life for Lulu

the bugs are a screechin’


and i am too.

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