F.K. Preston

Every life is a pocket watch
owned by a man in Sixth-Street.
Every dream was once a star
burning up your dirty laundry.
...

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I love your crooked teeth
I love your crooked smile
I love your crooked shadow
And crooked sense of style.
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Small world, isn't it?
With you walking down the street that's like every other street in town.
With your head filled with the same dreams we all like to wear around.
With all our rough childhoods motivating our sharp little fears.
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A spider crawled up my arm one night and whispered into my ear
silky dreams of lovely extremes all painted with coats of fear
when I woke up the next morning to my great surprise I realised the spider was dead
and next to that corpse was the bloody sight of my poor decapitated head
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Emily was a pill
Jack a cigarette
Amanda the nightmare
Peter the drink
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When I first met you
you had your arm in a sling.
Your front teeth were crooked.
There was this great, big, grin stretched across your face.
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I cooked all four seasons a time ago
to satisfy my hunger for the year.
Spring went down the worst
the flowers refused to burn.
...