Size / / /
Seem to haunt this icy REM fugue of mine
The pixilated arcs of a black box imagery
That pours freely through my damaged skull
And feeds the wireless archive of my mems
Of skirmishes fought and burning planets
And rows of literally heartless gypsy women
Pining for the stars in spaceport bars
And too the instruments of dark mercy
That kept me stitched and battle starched
So dull the brightness down a tich
Sharpen the noise and she's still alive
A wraith so poised and willful at trail's end
That her hair glowed like rogue electrons
Twining around those almond nuclei