Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Tip Her More

Who cares if there is no method to this madness?
Rocking alone in the dark, mumbling words unheard,
I can't get over this mind's melody.
Over and over, flip that record another time.
Slow it down and speed it up just to inflect,
Inserting yourself in the work of others.
There isn't hidden meaning, no stickers stuck.
Unconventionality doesn't call for a burning.
Nothing wicked, nothing explicit,
Still illicit.

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