1044. NOW WHILE I HAVE THE TIME

NOW WHILE I HAVE THE TIME
(glory staccato)
Does anyone know how I smell? Does anyone
sense the cleanliness or not of my clothing and
hair, the cut of my nails, the wavy sheen of
my dire skin? I would hope there's no one
around for any of that. The new girl, in 12B,
she drives me crazy - beautiful in her ways,
carrying herself like something I'd love.
I don't have a notion of what to say to
her, so that we never meet - since I
make no effort to seek her out.
-
Her brother, some creep like a carrion,
is a blue-shirted cop in this city of love.
He comes around now and then to check
on her - and I'm certain if he ever knew
about me he'd have something to say.
-
Like - 'What's that smell? Who's that guy
across the hall?' I make sure we never meet.
It's really boring to live like this. If I had, in
this manner, a rock to crawl under I'd
probably be better off. Not for her,
but for myself. Living like this
can sure bring on a headache
and cramp. I really want to
amount to something, let
her see me that way,
move along to the
good. But it'll
never happen.
I know.