In this secret place where words no longer serve,
there blooms a malcontent waiting for the
storms to subside. In this secret place
Samantha sits by the window contemplating a
quick death from the 80th floor,
as inch by inch I rise to take my
leave with a humble bow to
you, my haughty lady.
In this secret place the walls remain and the
sentinel stands watch, a lightning rod for
every capricious cowboy--their thick
accents a collusion of condemnation,
they who partition your dreams,
obsessed with their own
salvation, the slow wasting away
as the earth sinks beneath their feet.
In this secret place the orchestra
plays a tango that sails on the
indigo wind, as somewhere in the night
devils dance without any
pants--and the fires multiply
like a Hydra in the hills.