I Just Want To Ask You

   

I shoplifted your secrets at the five and dime,

But your sacred secrets dripped through my lap.

I carried your midnight dreams at the corner drug store,

But they spilled out when I dropped the box.

I ran away with the pocket of your jeans when you forgot them in the locker room,



But it turns out my jeans aren't blue.

I swindled your sad songs into coming with me for the night,

But they didn't want to sing for me, so I sent them back.

I robbed a faded flower of the button of your black leather suit,

But it died from the sweat of my hand.



So now I just want to ask...

How far do I swim on the razor of time?

How many lies do I fan out on the table for you.

I don't want to follow you.

I don't want to swallow you.

I just want to ask you...

What's your measure of reality?

How much space do I occupy in your reality?

How wide?

How deep?

How do I stand?

And what do I do to have any verity?



Because I will make flags fall with the rain for you.

And I will make a ritual of arbitrary fantasy for you.