Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Nashville and The Hurt (Pt 1)

The sight of dead roses can't stop my thoughts from swaying with the days. And here and there we all get a glimpse of heaven but never a brighter day. The front porch of a drunk is hung on the wall in front of me, and advice is being given freely on the fine art of giving a lap dance to the legless superheroes that were wounded by good intentions.

I go looking again for the already been. I'm left standing alone. In the park the rain is falling and Sister Lover has a nose full of coke. And a bald man is rejoicing because of the lack of rules in the game. Sixteen times a day and in seventy-nine different ways, I unleash my unexpected madness without regret.

The best kisses are stolen and the best resurrections are at hand. My windows are beginning to reflect and the moon is beginning its descent. I've had all the fun I'm allowed to exhuming the dead. All the commercials are running together and forming patterns of orange, leaving me with a feeling that's something like centripetal force or a punch in the mouth. And the back door has closed on the night--the lonely spider crawls down the wall and eternity flashes before me like a supernova. 

1 comment:

  1. One of the more mysterious persons in your book ... Nashville, clear what he represents but who he is :)?