Blonde on the bomb

Blonde on the bomb

Blonde on the bomb

Pacing this sidewalk along, heads are going to explode

Dangling limbs smile in their adjustment to the uncomfortable

Sudden need to appear more presentable

Laughing inside the detonator is disarmed but it is futile

To allay the alarms of rotating retinas and telescoping pupils

Rooting in doorways stumping toes on the pose

As feet do not proceed to where logic would tell them to go

Drivers are partitioned between the song on the radio

He would like to be, a pair of brake lights and

Her movement in taste that there is a yellow dress

Moving the afternoon into a hooky palace of lunacy

To follow in collar and somehow make amends for the squalor

His current life has been that only now he has seen

What he was meant to pursue

A girl in a bombshell watching his moves

Awaiting and casing this joint, taking his arms down to a point

Of complete and utter vulnerability, extract his masculinity

In one swift movement of a curl, blue eyes like drills

Mine the still image of a man expecting nothing but presence

To compensate for his total deliverance of all of his will

All of his net worth inked down on a napkin to transfer for time

That up until now all of it was a lie, unconcerned with the shrapnel