Cursive

The Farewell Party

3 Meanings

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"Bon voyage" 
And promptly he hung up the phone 
There was a doorbell ringing 
So he snuck out onto the terrace 
He said, "If these were my last words
Would they even make print? 
If all I had to say was simply oversaid 
By those old heretics
These words are counterfeit
Xeroxed off of memory
And no one's listening
Hey"

Twilight dawns 
All the champagne is gone 
All that's left is left behind 
Doorbells, still lives 

"Since you're leaving 
Was it a hollowed out heart? 
It seems like you've been yearning for some wordly position
Somewhere you can curl up in a little ball" 

It seems the world collapses 
In the mother's womb 
The place of birth 
Where we're all condemned 
It's the warm, sad, jaded end 
Starving for salvation of a terrace 
Drunk, tired, and alone 
Farewell, dead skin 

These words are second-hand 
They're dry 
They're cracked plastic lies 
They're cheap old whores 
Who wasted their lives 
In search of the warmest womb

	