Thursday, May 27, 2010

Song of the Sun Sirens

Tread lightly on the edge of the sun,
we did not mean to cause any alarm.
Our conscience is spotless as our skin,
no, we did not mean to do any harm.

Our lips spray mist into the harbor
while bronze ocean rocks glisten.
The sun is dying on a foreign island,
but come forward, sweet boy, and listen:

We never did mean to eat the sun,
or wash it down with the salty sea.
Now look into our milky eyes.
And buy us iced coffee.

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