Babyshambles

A Poem by Anon ymous.

There is the anticipation of road trips
mixed with the leftovers from last night:

albums gone sleeveless,
bra and pants,
loose change and dishes in the sink.

Curtains shimmy to the pop and hiss
of Exile on Main Street.

The skyline breaks at the same time side one
skip-bumps to a stop.

The open window is a promise, the asphalt
simmers.

Everything but sin burns at the right temperature.

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