hands in your pocket, flames in your head

Sara & Bob Dylan 

hands in your pocket, flames in your head

you walk down the street, pass the vacant church
where the melted hearts land
the smell of urine on the sidewalk, 
broken glass
pigeons seeking shelter on the telephone line
you take no pity on this 
filthy day
the liquor store sells spirits
sugar addiction and love quenched
gay porn and the classifieds
the music shifts in your pocket
he sings of your mercury mouth
she inspects with cloudy visions
torn pockets 
and lose thread
the cut on the tip of her finger
You walk the street searching 
with a sad hunger
your heart, your head, the heat
two passing ships on a midnight ocean
hands in your pocket, flames in your head

S. Moon