Moonstruck

I’m curious how many people are actually watching
Me lose all sense of stability
In those one-minute-intervals the stop-light is red.
A car ride is such a foreseen release until then;
I never look sideways, but assume I’m like a bonfire
Inept to be subtle…
For each teardrop is a translucent flame,
Cruel souvenir of the cursed light my heart initiates.

I’m curious how many people are actually watching
Me lose all sense of taste
In those one-minute-intervals the stop-light is red.
I bet you I’m a circus commodity;
Shackled to a canon, I am being launched
For all to smile and pont a finger...
But this troubadour doesn’t have a safety net,
Or a parachute. Or a cartoon melody.

I’m curious how many people are actually watching
Me lose all sense of appeal
In those one-minute-intervals the stop-light is red.
I bet you some even spare me some empathy;
I bet the religious pray, that my soul is saved,
I bet they wish I’d have a better complexion…
But I don’t look like their abstract Jesus.
My skin isn’t white. I am violet. I am violet.

I’m curious how many people are actually watching
Me lose all sense of place
In those one-minute-intervals the stop-light is red.
I dream I am driving on a bridge where time collapsed;
My windows are down, the mud splashes in
& I say to the halcyon world:
“Dorothy’s got a new ride… & she’s going to fly…
Fly far away f/ Kansas, fly far away f/ Oz!”