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Doors, The An American Prayer Angels and Sailors Angels and sailors rich girls backyard fences tents Dreams watching each other narrowly soft luxuriant cars Girls in garages, stripped out to get liquor and clothes half gallons of wine and six-packs of beer Jumped, humped, born to suffer made to undress in the wilderness. I will never treat you mean Never start no kind of scene I'll tell you every place and person that I've been. Always a playground instructor, never a killer Always a bridesmaid on the verge of fame or over He maneuvered two girls into his hotel room One a friend, the other, the young one, a newer stranger Vaguely Mexican or Puerto Rican Poor boys thighs and buttock scarred by a father's belt She's trying to rise Story of her boyfriend, of teenage stoned death games Handsome lad, dead in a car Confusion No connections Come 'ere I love you Peace on earth Will you die for me? Eat me This way The end I'll always be true Never go out, sneaking out on you, babe If you'll only show me Far Arden again. I'm surprised you could get it up He whips her lightly, sardonically, with belt Haven't I been through enough? she asks Now dressed and leaving The Spanish girl begins to bleed She says her period It's Catholic heaven I have an ancient Indian crucifix around my neck My chest is hard and brown Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin We could plan a murder Or start a religion. |
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