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Ujamma's Sound Clips
From Not A Pretty Girl


our father who art in a penthouse
sits in his 37th floor suite
and swivels to gaze down
at the city he made me in
he allows me to stand and
solicit grafitti
until he needs the land i stand on
i in my darkened threshold
am pawing through my pockets
the receipts, the bus schedules
the urgent anpkin poems
the matchbook phone numbers
all of which laundering has rendered
pulpy and strange
loose change and a key 
ask me
go ahead ask me if i care
i got the answer here
i wrote it down somewhere
i just gotta find it

somebody and theur spray paint
got too close
somebody came on too heavy
now look at me madly ugly
by the drooling letters
i was better off alone
ain't that the way it is
they don't know the first thing
but you don't know that
til they take the first swing
my fingers are red
and swollen from the cold
i'm getting bokd in my old age
so go ahead, try the door

it doesn't matter anymore
i know the weak hearted 
are strong willed 
and we're being kept alive
until we're killed
he's up there, the ice
is clinking in his glass
he sends me little pieces of paper
i don't ask
i just empty my pockets and wait
it's not fate
it's just circumstance
i don't fool myslef with romance
i just live
phoe number to phone number
dusting them against my thighs
in the warmth of my pockets
wich whisper history
incessantly asking me
where were you?
i lower my eyes
wishing i could cry more
and care less, yes it's true
i was trying to love someone again
i was caught caring, bearing weight
but i love this city, this state
this country is too large
and whoever's in charge up there
had better take the elevator down
and put more than change in our cup
or else we
are coming 

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