Sunday, May 10, 2009

Towards Night

Kneel in this vagabond dexterity
things working on all levels

mastodon memory
vacated like a filthy squat

tell it on the mole hill
this mountain is leveled by TNT

I need this
just a plain old square dance
with me and the keyboard
the muse, the smoke, the elixir
let’s make magic!

Verse is not dead, my dear man!
just dumbed down and slightly stillborn
these days
but still beautiful,
in the sense
of the full throttle mania
of sound and vision

Take for instance
the lonely highway
I’ve wondered down to
on many occasion
like a fairytale well of pitch black asphalt
I’ve strayed over yonder
and I need to be your hitchhiker
love me
I’m bruised
beat me
I’m used
re-invent me once again
this I give you
toward full tilt alcoholic holocaust!

We’re going!

No one responds
to my text messages
it’s 5 minutes to 9 p.m.
early in a city
late in a small town
ready to be cast down
I feel it
spreading out all over
bleeding into hysteria

I’ll regret this come dawn
I’m pasteurized and sizzled
the cow is dead
and the crow is old

I whisper way down into the ear Van Gogh
but no one remembers
or calls me back.

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