P.S.

[catseatbees]

I can't make music this desolate
I can't make music this beautiful
I can't climb the stairs
in the blue blue blue telephone pole
night time.
In the sky-light night time I might
climb the stairs
I might get to the next
floor.
I can't make music this timorous
I can't own her hands
and make them mine
on the stairs in
the night time
In the star lined
highway signs.
Nothing moving,
green marking
green marking
blue eyed
night time.