Skinny little brats
Walking down Avenue A
Dangling their cigarettes
Their Independence Day
Tears like filigrees
Wear them on their sleeves
Nobody's main squeeze
It's thirty-five degrees

Poetry of ordinary life is what I live for
They just want to be seen
They just want to be heard, said

My words are like confetti
And you never pick them up
They fall to the ground
I need someone to lift me up

So diaphanous so ephemeral
And all those bad words
They never learned in school
Groovy like my mamma was
In her black turtle neck
She was so high strung
She was so low tech

Poetry and tattooed dreams
And fourteen caret nose rings
The children of elite
Are trying to be street saying