Night Thoughts From Bali
All I can get this tropic dark to do
Is pour a rush of love I did not earn.
Is pour a rush of love I did not earn.
It swirls around me as if it would wet
My heart and lips, but I grow parched beneath
My heart and lips, but I grow parched beneath
The stars that shimmer like bright snowflakes on
A hill. I cringe, I crimson. I begin
A hill. I cringe, I crimson. I begin
To stammer through my dreams. They swell
With faces that I never kissed with love.
With faces that I never kissed with love.
Like hers — the thin, mad girl who said my name.
Clawing my check, she asked, “Why should I die
Clawing my check, she asked, “Why should I die
Before you’ll let me cuddle you to sleep.
Only my brain, my dear, is mad. My breasts
Only my brain, my dear, is mad. My breasts
And lips are sane. Why won’t you love my flesh
And make a saint of me? Hello? Hello?”
And make a saint of me? Hello? Hello?”
My head burned like a crown of fires for her.
I smiled, and she was torn away by men
I smiled, and she was torn away by men
Who made apologies as if her cry
Of love had in it anything insane.
Of love had in it anything insane.