2002-08-02

Feasting on a steady diet
Of Beignets and memories
And looking for a cure
To a disease that has no name
The heat and humidity purging me
Forcing these self-poisons through my skin
Though my eyes
Through my mouth
And through my fingers
I give my confession to the streets
Rather than the priests
Because that warm concrete
Has always been more understanding
I say a prayer for you
And then one too you
Even though I know you don't
Consciously hear it
I always did have a habit
Of talking too low
Unless on stage...

~Matt Magus

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