When I smoked
in fashions high
a deadly way
to justify
the pendulum
the swirling mess
I don't believe
but still confess
I'm getting more
than I lead on
I paint myself
a drowsy fawn
I wrote it down
but never said
I'd meet your mother,
wash your dreads
love me
- dolly at school
- She was Lo. Plain Lo in the morning. Standing five foot two in one sock. She smoked in her car and sang to herself. She wrote songs in her head when you took her on dates. She was jazz. She was the blues. She was high. She was not an artist, but she was good at a few things. That's why they still call her. And you should keep reading.
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