Everytime the terror names
of warm or sleeping cities
swim off your drunken tongue
and into the smoke
like fairies on ketamine
or a victory,
I want to catch them on mine
so they can hibernate
in my veins, too
I think I hate the thought
of you leaving town without me.
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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