Only moments crop up, bad seconds.
This is an improvement, reversal.
Only stopped shooting my feet, no big deal.
Now, I'll tell you a dream.
I was a spy, running through the
Rain-soaked streets of my
hometown, late at night.
My heels, my black sophisticated spy shoes,
make a movie sound, bouncing off brick.
The roads are mild cobblestones.
Whatever I am running for, I am too late.
Prevention, intervention, I am not sure.
I had that dream five years ago.
Last night I dreamed that my best friend
beaned me in a charity baseball game.
Hit me right on the ass.
Point being, salvage the broth
and eat some bread.
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