Sycamore. Sick, sick, sycamore.
Surrendering yourself to winter sleaze.
A frosty tongue laps up every last leaf
Licks you bare
Exposed to all yes, but oh! so exposed to one
Over the road she'd watch
Shielded with front room double glaze
That was sometimes veiled with muslin
She sometimes wore a bathrobe
Or a Nantucket sweatshirt tucked into size 16 jeans
And a Swatch
Or a necklace
Always dressed with desire
Such icy pleasure.
And she wore envy
Year after year after year
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Once upon a time, the sun was as white as snow when Jane xxx from that street did not manage to avoid what she didn't. She could not avoid the failure of her marriage with Jake xxx either. She is survived by no kids. The authority does not suspect any conjugal wrong-doings nor black kids from the other street. Jane was not sick in the head at the time of death. No neighbors cried at the funeral, that I think looked very suspicious but all in all, everybody looked so slick in white and, all in all, she-her husband jake said, blinking from the flashes-you see has had a fulfilled and fulfilling bad life. All at the Gazette, join in "Sorrow" (to the tune of ) but still wonder if the streets will miss her.