Tamburitza Lingua

a cold and porcelain lonely
in an old new york hotel
a stranger to a city 
that she used to know so well
bathing in a bathroom
that is bathed in the first blue light
of the beginning of a century
at the end of an endless night

then she is wet behind the ears and wafting down the avenue
pre-rush hour 
post-rain shower
stillness seeping upwards like steam 
from another molten sewer 
summer in new york 

they've been spraying us with chemicals in our sleep 
us / they 
something about the mosquitoes having some kind of disease 
them / me 
CIA foul play 
if you ask the guy selling hair dryers out of a gym bag
chemical warfare 
"i'm telling you, lab rat to lab rat," he says, "that's where the truth is at"
that's where the truth is at 
that's where the truth is at 

and everything seems to have gone terribly wrong that can
but one breath at a time is an acceptable plan 
she tells herself
and the air is still there 
and this morning it's even breathable 
and for a second the relief is unbelievable 
and she's a heavy sack of flour sifted 
her burden lifted 
she's full of clean wind for one lean moment 
and then she's trapped again 
reverted
caged and contorted 
with no way to get free 
and she's getting plenty of little kisses 
but nobody's slippin' her the key

her whole life is a long list of what ifs 
and she doesn't even know where to begin 
and the pageantry of suffering therein 
rivals television
tv is, after all, the modern day roman coliseum 
human devastation as mass entertainment 
and now millions sit jeering
collectively cheering 
the bloodthirsty hierarchy of the patriarchal arrangement 

she is hailing a cab
she is sailing down the avenue 
she's 19 going on 30 
or maybe she's really 30 now ...
it's hard to say 
it's hard to keep up with time once it's on its way

and, you know, she never had much of a chance 
born into a family built like an avalanche 
and somewhere in the 80s between the oat bran and the ozone 
she started to figure out things like why 
one eye pointed upwards looking for the holes in the sky 
one eye on the little flashing red light 
a picasso face twisted and listing down the canvas 
of the end of an endless night

10 9 8 seven six 5 4 three 2 one
and kerplooey 
you're done. 
you're done for. 
you're done for good.
so tell me 
did you?
did you do 
did you do all you could ?



   
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