Joan Of Arc
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Staying Alive And Lovelessness

Joan Of Arc


Either I just stopped understanding you or I'm just beginning to.
Your easy ends for easy means and it seems it's always either pee or popcorn smell with you.

Hope is hopeless, trust only you own starve and the starving.

When we raced with our sight in stripes through open and any stoplaughing was just waiting to begin, I was so happy to go through the open at all.
The open so close and forgetting everything I've ever seen.

She remembered home as only degrees of summer.
Entire afternoons devoted to a single green apple, the swirling clouds in glass jars of water that always resolved themselves in purples with each dip of her brush.
Ben the teenage drag race casualty with his slow suited wasy and sudden smile or Albert the teenage drag race champion always in a different nice shirt that never fit right.
They'd both stop by without anything much to say but a whole lot of questions if and when they'd ever chance upon each other.

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