9 October 2006

 

God was my co-pilot, but we crashed in the Wasatch mountains

 

and I had to eat him.

 

Out wandering around

 

only to discover a glut of bright

 

and shiny objects.

 

But on a quantum level, how can we really be sure?!

 

He thinks the fashionista with the flip is dreamy.

 

Feeling social euphoria

 

but no exits.

 

And then I said, manolos are for serious occasions; everything else are my jimmy choos.

 

Soon enough, the merry go round

 

of metered sipping cocktails.

 

He says, no no, spend the money, don't smoke the money.

 

Too late.