Forgetful

Where in Arizona is Eliza's howling wolf?
She's forgotten the ditch where the moonlight looks over his half-eaten bones.
What if I wake up under her window?
What if I want her furniture burned?

The sky has some white streaks that laugh at me;
why don't they know about how a dig gets so dirty?
It's the condition that's giving me a rash, not your makeup.

Maybe the museum's door is closed for a reason.
Marble tiles wash away dirt real easy, my boots get forgot real quick.

And if some machinery wraps around a tree, does the irony go out the window
with your purse? Or with my dignity, at least?
If some afternoon dreams can step on the toes of faith,
what hope is there for a ticking clock lifestyle?

Let yourself drown in wet cigarettes, foggy and grey.

Nothing in life is free but the cheese in the trap, you told me.
Only it was across the bridge. The water might have muddied your intent.

Spend your time asking the fish rather than me, that's all good and well.
When the cinema's gone, where can you go? Not my home,
or ours.

Maybe it takes cold to the brain to be tranquil.