Birdog from Purple Barceloner by Tom Hymn

Smells like a hotel hallway. Barefoot. No one faster than me. You're upstairs in another country. You can smile with your teeth. Smile with your teeth. He's downstairs checking the furnace. Yellow nails. Graying hair. How long can you keep it down there? If I could then I would. And I can but I won't. Cucucurucucurucu. Aye paloma. Aye aye aye. Diay cantaba. When you call it rises up like a river flood in too small a cup of deep black joe and your memory. Clandestine I'm intertwined with you on the Leking ground it's true you've been bird-dogging me again. I want to take your smooth and pretty face, tie it up, wrap it with lace. Take it to where the trinkets of jet are sold. Cause we're travelers, you and I, to Gold Mountain in the cobalt skies of your eyes that say let me love you. Let me love you.

• Folk
• Punk
• grunge
• slinky
• world music
• Grand Rapids