THERE ARE PLENTY OF LITTLE DEATHS.
IN THE BACKSEAT OF A BUICK ’88,
ON SWEATY DANCEFLOORS,
BALCONIES AT DAWN,
AND ON ANY HIGHWAY STRETCHED LIKE A THIRSTY VEIN
BETWEEN NEW YORK AND CALIFORNIA.
THERE ARE PLENTY OF LITTLE DEATHS.
IN THE BACKSEAT OF A BUICK ’88,
ON SWEATY DANCEFLOORS,
BALCONIES AT DAWN,
AND ON ANY HIGHWAY STRETCHED LIKE A THIRSTY VEIN
BETWEEN NEW YORK AND CALIFORNIA.