slowly withering away… like a thin cigarette paper when it is rolled carefully between the fingers and then pressed down into a lump, then into a dot, then into nothingness.
o red shoes please take me to my new house, to my new job, to my new bike, to my new life,
through the rain, through the wind, and through all my insecurities. i need your red help.
(and in case of emergency, cum zice luc, tap dance!)
that oil stain is an old borrowed bike sayin’: welcome back to Amsterdam!