You lapsed out of your lonely cell;
Bobby Vinton had been serenading you
nightly.
《Now I'm a soldier, a lonely soldier....》
You called me over air-waves
that have since been lost in time.
Your voice smoking like a cigarette,
working on getting well, getting better.
《....Away from home through no wish
of my own.....》
Across borders we telepathically
played at endearment. I was distracted
by loves, you, the prostitutes
across the street from your Mexican
haven.
Both of us so close....so close...
《....That's why I'm lonely, I'm mister
lonely....》
You had a new tune mixed with old
stale misery, and my horoscope misread
when it said I could lift such weights....
《...wish that I could go back home.》
Now it is Autumn and it truly feels like
death; with these thoughts of Mr. Lonely
in my head I sort through sordid visions
of hell.
II. {Miss Lonelyhearts}
In a strange sulking mold of a suburban house, as ill used as her body, bruises and punctures could be seen, on the walls, her porcelain skin.... In ancient times she would have been a nymph or a siren, now, Mammon made a hollow wind sound that is her name. Like a ghost she haunts. Guiltily.
I recalled the tender years, when my first love asked me to draw her; I hadn't drawn in years, fearful abuse from authority had made me sick. Yet I tried, and tried mostly to seem like I wasn't trying at all. The end result reflected my lack of practice and focus and was easily excused with a kiss.
Then, in a youthful mold of a suburban house, we laughed over my attempt, though it felt more like a mask of humor to hide the violent thought that she hated her own face.
Yet in this queer structure, private property, this different vision of the same princess struck me with a kiss. She thrust it upon my lips. Because I had ridden in on a quicksilver stallion and saved her from a dragon that looked at me with dead eyes.
How unfortunate for him I'd long been in a staring contest with death.
In this void of grief, black hole of love, the room for love was quickly imploding; My only regret was that those crystal memories of childish curiosity were gone....so distant.......
This was after the violence, after the excavation of the mummified scream that bellowed out so ghastly; plagued, we drove for hours, dreaming like drifters, ready to feel...
She was a rattlesnake with a tail full of pills.
This one makes you smaller-
This one makes you shake-
And we all fall down....
She came into my room, a hip death goddess, and hid memories like Easter eggs for me to find once the damage was done.
Ashes to ashes....
All in all, she was a bad excuse for sex. Kindness became burdensome.
We all fall down...«I have this sickness inside me...»
And then, what was left but more bruised fruit for the winter to freeze?
III. {Alone, but not lonely}
Tragic tears tear at me,
And the world is sun.
Frogs hop to die in the tread
of bastard tires
and all the raccoons that sleep
on the shoulders of these vicious roads
Hum the cicada hymn of decay.
We should have been siblings,
in this life.
Before me, all I see is distance.
You called me over air-waves
that have since been lost in time.
Your voice smoking like a cigarette,
working on getting well, getting better.
《....Away from home through no wish
of my own.....》
Across borders we telepathically
played at endearment. I was distracted
by loves, you, the prostitutes
across the street from your Mexican
haven.
Both of us so close....so close...
《....That's why I'm lonely, I'm mister
lonely....》
You had a new tune mixed with old
stale misery, and my horoscope misread
when it said I could lift such weights....
《...wish that I could go back home.》
Now it is Autumn and it truly feels like
death; with these thoughts of Mr. Lonely
in my head I sort through sordid visions
of hell.
II. {Miss Lonelyhearts}
In a strange sulking mold of a suburban house, as ill used as her body, bruises and punctures could be seen, on the walls, her porcelain skin.... In ancient times she would have been a nymph or a siren, now, Mammon made a hollow wind sound that is her name. Like a ghost she haunts. Guiltily.
I recalled the tender years, when my first love asked me to draw her; I hadn't drawn in years, fearful abuse from authority had made me sick. Yet I tried, and tried mostly to seem like I wasn't trying at all. The end result reflected my lack of practice and focus and was easily excused with a kiss.
Then, in a youthful mold of a suburban house, we laughed over my attempt, though it felt more like a mask of humor to hide the violent thought that she hated her own face.
Yet in this queer structure, private property, this different vision of the same princess struck me with a kiss. She thrust it upon my lips. Because I had ridden in on a quicksilver stallion and saved her from a dragon that looked at me with dead eyes.
How unfortunate for him I'd long been in a staring contest with death.
In this void of grief, black hole of love, the room for love was quickly imploding; My only regret was that those crystal memories of childish curiosity were gone....so distant.......
This was after the violence, after the excavation of the mummified scream that bellowed out so ghastly; plagued, we drove for hours, dreaming like drifters, ready to feel...
She was a rattlesnake with a tail full of pills.
This one makes you smaller-
This one makes you shake-
And we all fall down....
She came into my room, a hip death goddess, and hid memories like Easter eggs for me to find once the damage was done.
Ashes to ashes....
All in all, she was a bad excuse for sex. Kindness became burdensome.
We all fall down...«I have this sickness inside me...»
And then, what was left but more bruised fruit for the winter to freeze?
III. {Alone, but not lonely}
Tragic tears tear at me,
And the world is sun.
Frogs hop to die in the tread
of bastard tires
and all the raccoons that sleep
on the shoulders of these vicious roads
Hum the cicada hymn of decay.
We should have been siblings,
in this life.
Before me, all I see is distance.
