Array ( [sid] => 150363 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Agenda [time] => 2009-06-01 15:15:11 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda. (2x)

I’ve been walking blindly 'round the bend
as long as I can feel the trail of her hair
on my outstretched hand,
might be in some kind of sick bazaar
with shrunken heads, but I don’t notice their
distress. I only notice that I’m falling down,
laughs abound, but I haven’t even earned the merit
of embarrassment from her. I don’t deserve this.
I don't deserve this.

I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda.
They wouldn’t want to see this traveler
with all the scars he has unkissed
from times when he didn’t know
just how to please,
how to please.

She doesn't notice me.
I find the pothole much a token route for
me to take, as I rise up like an urban Lazarus,
given to the jungle of tape I never dared to
tread before I saw where that woman goes.
She walks right through herself. Maybe she too
is hungry for some peer.
Don’t tell me your agenda; for, I fear
that you would choose a home
already all dressed up, children roaming
round the bend...
your husband
calling out your name.

Holiday lights flicker in your home,
a muted strobe quiet for children.
I’d never have to talk to you unless
he saw my face in the dark, staggering
on my neck, when her hair ceases
to flap in the wind:

“Laura, who’s that man?”
“Laura, who’s that man?”

Well, I would dash into the black.

I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda.
They wouldn’t want to see this traveler
with all the scars he has unkissed
from times when he didn’t know
just how to please,
how to please.

I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 34 [informant] => screwge [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => SongLyrics ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Agenda


Agenda
Date: Monday, 1st June 2009 @ 03:15:11 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: screwge
I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda. (2x)

I’ve been walking blindly 'round the bend
as long as I can feel the trail of her hair
on my outstretched hand,
might be in some kind of sick bazaar
with shrunken heads, but I don’t notice their
distress. I only notice that I’m falling down,
laughs abound, but I haven’t even earned the merit
of embarrassment from her. I don’t deserve this.
I don't deserve this.

I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda.
They wouldn’t want to see this traveler
with all the scars he has unkissed
from times when he didn’t know
just how to please,
how to please.

She doesn't notice me.
I find the pothole much a token route for
me to take, as I rise up like an urban Lazarus,
given to the jungle of tape I never dared to
tread before I saw where that woman goes.
She walks right through herself. Maybe she too
is hungry for some peer.
Don’t tell me your agenda; for, I fear
that you would choose a home
already all dressed up, children roaming
round the bend...
your husband
calling out your name.

Holiday lights flicker in your home,
a muted strobe quiet for children.
I’d never have to talk to you unless
he saw my face in the dark, staggering
on my neck, when her hair ceases
to flap in the wind:

“Laura, who’s that man?”
“Laura, who’s that man?”

Well, I would dash into the black.

I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda.
They wouldn’t want to see this traveler
with all the scars he has unkissed
from times when he didn’t know
just how to please,
how to please.

I chase women who I love.
Don’t tell them my agenda.

This poem is Copyright © screwge


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