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letra de dirt / the birds - david f. bello

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call me up on a hot summer evening
maybe i’ll answer your letters
call me up on a hot summer spring
maybe i’ll answer your letters

driving a bus in ontario
and cutting hair in the back
for dead drifters and dead school boys
for fifty cents and a cigarette or some meth

cooking dust in your mamas oven
breakin’ bones at minimum wages
mangled wires sit in a clump on the floor
answer the door for the customer

staying up late later than i should
i like destroying things just because they’re good

wish you’d meet me at school so i don’t have to go home
i’m scared of my bed and the voice in my room
it talks from the foot of my bed in the night
i wish it would go when i turn out the light
but it stays

i wish you would kiss me on the lids of my eyes
because as long as they’re closed i can ignore the size
of the cyst that is growing on your right cheek
i’ll heal you with rocks from our hidden creek
where we stay

maybe the sun hates you enough to explode
and k!ll all the other women i’ve never met
you’re jealous and green with an envious load
that twelve o’clock sees when watches are set
but don’t stay

sinners don’t wake from the naps that they take
they keep dreaming and dreaming until it’s all fake
cultures burn up in vernacular stews
and obsolescence grows in what you don’t use
anymore

swallow the empties to remove any claim
so no one can name any names that can name
the sounds that you heard when you were twelve or fourteen
that disappeared and are
extinct

- david f bello

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