Post by Steve on Sept 29, 2005 4:56:37 GMT -5
to know death is to smile softly into
fog.
the beach has once again taken me prisoner. breaking dawn in the backseat of my car watching oldheads with no worries and all of the patience in the world lets me smoke and drift off to sleep in a subtle drunken stumble landing into dreams as soft as my mother's breast (my face firmly pressed). the tides change and submerge my front wheels, slowly sinking further into sand like an invalid child being submerged in his soft over-sized down comforter, and i pull out as quiet as my `86 toyota will let me.
a long road leading to woodbine brought an older black man to my door, resulting in talk and cigarettes for some 2 miles until again he passes through my door, to never touch its handle again.
goodluck LG.
his face was weathered and tired, like a stone on the face of a rocky san fran cliff. his hands were white with ashe and his lips curled and fit around the butt like he was born with a cigarette in his mouth.
darkened angel where are your wings?
beating the highway is no way for this world to
repay you.
go now and find your woman
and love her into the night.
my car hydroplanes across the yellow line, which slowly turn into white broken marks, dashes in the long sentence of the road that i relentlessly read until i end in her arms, one hundred and sixty three miles away, at two thirty in the morning stoned, i am gonna see my baby.
i drive further and i pass my magled vehicle wayside, doors torn off from the jaws of life, and a lifeless mass being hauled out from the gaping gash in the cars torso. i drive passed.
a gurgling gutter
an engine sputter
a foot on the gas
that's all i need.
every walking person by is opportunity missed.
a vast well of opinions and personality waiting to be toppled, puddled, and slurped to intoxicate you. but i know that i can never be him, this person i build myself up to be, my seat and old passenger chair abandoned in the strip of trees alongside of Ludlum's pier, watching life from my mountain of abandoned IFs and hard to forget WHYs, like a robin's song stuck in your head whistling later in life this little melody and not remembering from where it came.
where from came i?
what have i come forth for?
where is the vast endless open/sneering mouth that so many of us are born to be sacraficed to? and if we are to be devoured, why can i not do as i wish?
i hit and killed a blackbird
so to purge myself of horrors
my body convulsed and removed every last
meal within,
and i cried....
where is my mr. cassidy?
and love love, how my veins carrry it so haphazardly
forgetting where they were initially going, wandering off into the sides of the road, and climbing trees to reach out and paint the sunset. They follow lonely women and protect fragile men, and by the time they come back to me, i'm already passed dead.
i had died in her eyes, wondering what her hair felt like wet and twisted between my fingers, and if she would let me drench her in kisses perfumed with lilies. i died in his footsteps retreating from something in the east, coming down from the mountains he was hell bent on goin south. looking up at the sky as to wonder where the geese have gone, not remembering himself it was july.
and love love love, where will you be when i die for good? will you be in the hearts of the earwigs, savoring my mind in now the physical sence? in the digestive system of the blessed earthworms, weaving their tender latex selves through my eyes?
i don't know, but now i have to go find shoes.
fog.
the beach has once again taken me prisoner. breaking dawn in the backseat of my car watching oldheads with no worries and all of the patience in the world lets me smoke and drift off to sleep in a subtle drunken stumble landing into dreams as soft as my mother's breast (my face firmly pressed). the tides change and submerge my front wheels, slowly sinking further into sand like an invalid child being submerged in his soft over-sized down comforter, and i pull out as quiet as my `86 toyota will let me.
a long road leading to woodbine brought an older black man to my door, resulting in talk and cigarettes for some 2 miles until again he passes through my door, to never touch its handle again.
goodluck LG.
his face was weathered and tired, like a stone on the face of a rocky san fran cliff. his hands were white with ashe and his lips curled and fit around the butt like he was born with a cigarette in his mouth.
darkened angel where are your wings?
beating the highway is no way for this world to
repay you.
go now and find your woman
and love her into the night.
my car hydroplanes across the yellow line, which slowly turn into white broken marks, dashes in the long sentence of the road that i relentlessly read until i end in her arms, one hundred and sixty three miles away, at two thirty in the morning stoned, i am gonna see my baby.
i drive further and i pass my magled vehicle wayside, doors torn off from the jaws of life, and a lifeless mass being hauled out from the gaping gash in the cars torso. i drive passed.
a gurgling gutter
an engine sputter
a foot on the gas
that's all i need.
every walking person by is opportunity missed.
a vast well of opinions and personality waiting to be toppled, puddled, and slurped to intoxicate you. but i know that i can never be him, this person i build myself up to be, my seat and old passenger chair abandoned in the strip of trees alongside of Ludlum's pier, watching life from my mountain of abandoned IFs and hard to forget WHYs, like a robin's song stuck in your head whistling later in life this little melody and not remembering from where it came.
where from came i?
what have i come forth for?
where is the vast endless open/sneering mouth that so many of us are born to be sacraficed to? and if we are to be devoured, why can i not do as i wish?
i hit and killed a blackbird
so to purge myself of horrors
my body convulsed and removed every last
meal within,
and i cried....
where is my mr. cassidy?
and love love, how my veins carrry it so haphazardly
forgetting where they were initially going, wandering off into the sides of the road, and climbing trees to reach out and paint the sunset. They follow lonely women and protect fragile men, and by the time they come back to me, i'm already passed dead.
i had died in her eyes, wondering what her hair felt like wet and twisted between my fingers, and if she would let me drench her in kisses perfumed with lilies. i died in his footsteps retreating from something in the east, coming down from the mountains he was hell bent on goin south. looking up at the sky as to wonder where the geese have gone, not remembering himself it was july.
and love love love, where will you be when i die for good? will you be in the hearts of the earwigs, savoring my mind in now the physical sence? in the digestive system of the blessed earthworms, weaving their tender latex selves through my eyes?
i don't know, but now i have to go find shoes.