beat it, paulie,
her breast hid away,
beat it, i don’t want you around,
(such a funny name for a breast, edgar)
my name isn’t paulie,
i don’t have a name,
but you can call me paulie,
I am really you,
you're looking at yourself,
this is me that is you,
in a mirror, a mirror doesn’t have a name either,
it's everyone she meets,
I am you, she is us,
we are the same.
edgar couldn’t understand.
he was more like a can on the streets of a windy town,
or like a little bully called frank who grows up to be a disco bodyguard,
or like cocoa milk getting cold on the window sill,
he reacted, but couldn’t understand more than a garden chair would.
breasts are beasts without ‘r’s,
beasts without hours,
hours without beats,
beats without skips,
skips without hops,
hopes without dreams.
breasts are beasts from dreams skipped in no hour’s beat.