Pants

Gorgeous green lights hum
melancholy love songs,
flooding the scene
along a champagne glow.
Gruesome gone with a pair of lips,
forgotten as surprise rupture
of my own, tumbling
with the speed of the flakes
resting on my sleeve.

One out of four
have no face.
Hidden underneath
tight-knit woven cotton
exceptionally
clear-headed thinking.

My own two legs
curse me,
leaving,
two arms
dull and worn by
cracked concrete
and black ice.
I'll grow wheels,
find those damn legs
and give them
just what they deserve.