Whistle
Brisa Roché
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Eighteen coming like thunder
Platinum bangs and you under
Driving high on the Cliffside
Black rocks bared by the low-tide
Vapor-girl
The hissing car
Barely veils
Your fleet of stars
Palm on kerosene lantern
You, curled soft as a kitten
Hitch-hike over the passes
You, queen of cutting classes
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Vapor-girl
The hissing car
Barely veils
Your fleet of stars
Crossing north to the island
Your ringed fingers in my hand
Puppet-strings over Coltrane
At the twins in the grey rain
Vapor-girl
The hissing car
Vapor-girl
The hissing car
Barely veils
Your fleet of stars