Wine and Cardigans: Waking up to a buzzing chatter

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Waking up to a buzzing chatter

A million people woke me up at 7am on Sunday. Yonge street was surprisingly closed for some sort of run. They even brought in orange porta-potties! (look close at the image). I was totally shocked when I opened my blinds half asleep.

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Stale crumbs sitting on time,
born into a stew of spit and grime,
wheeling in crates of carcasses and drugs,
the mixture sweats and begins its hugs.
Cupcakes grow big and look like three or two,
the hug walks into a wall,
confused,
it stares at a shoe.
Visions of a new world flood the disguise,
a head falls out and opens its eyes,
the figure stumbles and sheds its past,
it's a new year and everything is happening fast.
Thoughts are so loud it can't hear its voice,
a body wearing the other shoe helps with the choice.
Two figures jump,
nobody knows,
of the secrets they built into a frozen rose.
They fall past and through inside and out,
a new mind, a thought, a scream a shout.
Owners of a fresh skin,
model: happy,
the two figures run away with a new sin,
no need to feel crappy.
Their rich cravings breed a new set of crumbs,
this time,
born into a stew of rainbows and tums.