Subliminal Sublimation
I am still getting accustomed to your city's traffic I still do not call this city my own It certainly has that pinkish humor you always talked about I miss you Life moves slow There is a pool of rebellion I am still learning to swim in I smoked under that underbridge, had tar removed from my man's lips I miss you I think of dangerous books and dangerous places I think of non-belonging among the din of war cry I let people touch my hands like I desired to touch yours I miss you There is always something better I could with my time I could love, make love, damn it I can walk deluded, talk incessantly in a box of cold glass I can carry myself on mountain tops and shout I miss you "This world, my dear, is a theatre and sometimes, sometimes I feel exhausted of being their dolled up performing arts. This world, my dear, snatches more than it could give you. This world, this world, my dear, gloats on possessio...
