An Ultraviolet Waltz

She died on the roof where it was sunny, honey,

From the backlash of the heatstroke in the crossfire

While Wilson ached about tender women and liars


It’s said that detectives were pursuing the moon –

Dusting for fingerprints on soul and silver linings

And finding clues inside the grooves of doo-wop tunes


She died on the roof to the Vandellas looking

Down on the switchblade dances in the mean streets

Nothing fazed that little marvelette, that supreme


So in her mind she flied when the stars aligned

Her bread and wine she swapped for cream and whiskey

To find a sky of new moons in a waltz of words



Ascending above the backstabbings and bribings

We’ll dance and we’ll die high above the ceiling

Eventually, definitely, incandescently


But only when it’s sunny, honey.


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