Text:
Vega Suzanne Days Of Open Hand

He said, ?You stand in your own shoes? I said, ?I'd rather stand in someone else's? He said, ?You look from your direction? I said, ?I like to keep perspective

50-50 chance The doctor said In the cardiac room As she's lying in bed There's a pan on the floor Filled with something black I need to know I'm afraid

Those whole girls Hurl down words Run in packs With bloom to spare They know health Know it well Skim the cream And fill the brim Drip with news Spin

Now the time has come to speak I was not able And water through a rusted pipe Could make the sense that I do Gurgle and mutter Hiss, stutter Moan the

Somewhere in a room With a poster on a wall Of a man with his hand In a fist Is a woman who's drinking And her dress is so tight You can see every breath

50-50 chance The doctor said In the cardiac room As she's lying in bed There's a pan on the floor Filled with something black I need to know I'm afraid

know how it is When something is gone A piece of your eyesight Or maybe your vision A corner of sense Goes blank on the screen A piece of the scan Gets filled in by hand

Let's tell the future Let's see how it's been done. By numbers. By mirrors. By water. By dots made at random on paper. By salt. By dice. By meal. By

Somewhere in a room With a poster on a wall Of a man with his hand In a fist Is a woman who's drinking And her dress is so tight You can see every breath