Of Courtyards: when you speak of California i somehow think

when you speak of California i somehow think

of you, two or three years old,

sitting in front of your father's television set

with a cup of skim milk sitting on your tray.

Under the sea!

you strike me somehow as a Little Mermaid-kind-of-girl.

i can see your blonde curls bouncing

and your pale hands clapping along

to the nautical rhythms before you:

Un-der da seeeee!

you said you used to love the beach

when you were little:

but now you dread the sand inside your skin.

i think the video tape went dead from tracking too much.

Of Courtyards