scene

click, click, click
flick, the zippo lighter
wait, what are we doing in this strange room
it’s a maze, a mistake
the doors are too small and at odd angles
we shouldn’t be here, it’s not time
this, is a place for the poor
lost souls, wretched in the realization
that this ramshackle is now home
split, was it a dream or a hallucination?

it’s like the movie “a beautiful mind”
walls covered with slips of paper and
invisible strings connecting vague ideas
that’s how my mind works
too many disjointed thoughts to document properly
and nothing seems to satisfy for long
it’s all repetition and reparation
redeeming qualities lost in
a blur of laziness and wishful thinking
at times i’m haunted by ghosts
of the great underachievers
cold, hard men, a warning
and the past has a way of
following me from a distance
there are eyes, spies everywhere
chrome killers constantly
cultivating calculated calumny and
the creeping gloom is playing in the background
mixed with bird songs and traffic and
falling against the backdrop of a setting sun

friday, at week’s end
dusk, quiet and questioning
set to the tone of bukowski and molina
sitting with a half empty beer
there’s no style and
the night just isn’t safe anymore
looking away i see tired eyes and dry skin
hungry and endlessly waiting for
the right girl, the right time, the right place
to complete the task at hand
it’s too early to sleep
and too late to retreat
sometimes a man just has nothing to say

 

 

 

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