four

i don’t drink much anymore
the screen door is broken
with rusty hinges and no springs
and theres bullet holes
in the heart of man
four women
three past
and one unknown
lies heaped upon lies
processed and prepackaged words
this is how it begins now
it just doesn’t come easy anymore
daily babble
and betrayal
caught in a bohemian fantasy
and born twenty years too late
looking through the plate glass windows
all the children have been chased away
by tired old men smug in their certainty
i walked four miles
hoping to find communion
in a virtual city of strangers
but rumination has spoiled my mood
scratching and dripping with sweat
from mosquito bites and a stale river breeze
all that’s left is
the distant sound
of bad covers
and laughter on pavement
how many times must this game be played
walking walking always walking
so little talking
working that next beat
look up man look around
there must be at least one cabal
capable of cacophonous calculations
to guide me through this blistering night

 

 

 

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