XXS by Deathless Gods with Human Bods

You ask if the crossed line
Affected any friends of mine
And I hope that somehow my answer excludes me this time

We take the bikes out for a ride
Miriam falls at the top of the drive
And I stay up late listening to true crime

At least you won’t remember me
I never click ‘remember me’
A cache of muscle memory
Is hardly documentary

But I’m a mess, XXS
You wouldn’t settle for any less
In my mind I take the Red line, dressed
Impressively, and I only speak when pressed

Telegraph Hill in ‘84;
Woman I don’t know anymore;
The decentralized networks that ran us aground and ashore

But I am still a worrier
Blood in my ears is a barrier
Between me and the headlines I wish I could simply ignore

At least you won’t remember me
I never click ‘remember me’
And I am what I’m supposed to be
I change my profile’s privacy

I’m a mess, XXS
You wouldn’t settle for any less
I am poised and I am self-possessed
An avatar; a scimitar; bright-eyed; blessed

I bike home with all my bruises
You never name the one who loses

At least you won’t remember me
I never click ‘remember me’
A cache of muscle memories
Is hardly documentary

• Alternative
• Encrypted
• electronic
• folk
• indie
• latinx
• polyrhythmic
• pop
• singer-songwriter
• transgender
• true crime
• Los Angeles