Baby you've got monsters in your head

for Mary Jo

Lighted cigarette on your fingers
and lips
frozing the heat of your skin
and mind
Black clouds moving shift
upon the dark velvet sky
creating shades on your littles eyes
Sweet Mary
Escaping away from shrills
which are getting higher
shuffling to one point of the room
to another
you keep scratching on this reproductions
of full black screen
writting fissures on canvas
Blowing them out to the mainstream

And I keep hail
invoking your name
Sweet Mary
and the mythical things you think
I keep invoking them
again
and again
and again

And I say
baby you've got monsters in your head
but this doesn't mean anything
the lighted cigarette.
our crystal glass of wine.
the scratches.
the shrills.
baby you've got no monsters in your head
sweet sweet mary
down down down low
inevitably
I know
who's the one who got monsters in her head
sweet sweet Mary Jo