calls, calls, calls… like rain

 

 

calls, calls, calls… like rain
like bullets, like bricks thrown
to burst our little bubble of time
you couldn’t dodge them all
but you finally snapped “no more phone calls”
and switched that thing off
we saw rufus that night – rufus!

i’m sure rufus has no idea
how prominent he was
in our makeshift mythology
as some impossibly graceful dream of everything you were adamant you could never be: handsome, charming, interesting (“exotic! waxy! tender!”)
he was all these things that night, and so were you.
and …so tired of america
long before rufus

 

 

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