I bowled three games tonight.
Possible paths to victory skipped rocks in my mind,
Until the ball dropped.
I won and lost.
My face flushed.
My skills wavered,
Such a tragic player.
A strike, a ball doomed to the gutter.
What did it matter?
When the lanes burst with laughter?
Friends, arcades, night bowling.
Strange shoes and watching feet behind the line.
No passing it, no crime.
All win in the end.
Bowling alleys- hidden gems.
what will it take? 20 years of outright lies
and denied mistakes?
watching you escape on a plane set a thousand miles away
or at home screaming in pain
we're both here, both alone
both sorry, both stubborn
overcome with disappointment
and it'll kill us, we'll die here, we're done
Roll the ball down the lane
Hit a pin or two
Shoes for rent
Scores are kept
Roll a spare
Three holes feel with fingers
Sometimes a gutter ball
Keep trying for a strike
Get your roll down till it feels right
Play all your frame
Love it so much keep playing the game
Play in teams or do it alone
The scores at the end says it all
From A to B, my temper holds
stronger than if still,
for I can't see a destination
stronger than my will.
Moving breaks my static gaze
as reels of passing art
leave their mark and fall away
but just in perpetual shift may they
stretch out time for me and stay.
My pangs are lost in deep transition
as we reach towards B from A,
and I look ahead to C, dare I say:
As life winds up its next stretched reel,
my will on that way would be stronger still.
Stepping in and smelling fresh diarrhea and cigarettes
Slide your fingers into the heels of over worn shoes
Then your feet- someone has been here before, hundreds of people have
sit in the solid plastic swivel
step up to the dead rack and pick up a germ infested, god-forsaken ball
bowl terribly and pull your glute
It was night
There were no clouds in the sky,
Just stars in the black sea.
Noise spilled through the doors of the bar.
Outside the Brass Rail people with alcohol in their system
And the ganja in their lungs crowd the 49 highway.
In the middle of the road,
Where the white and yellow lines run parallel,
A wild smiling girl sets the triangle of bowling pins.
A ways down the highway line, a smiling man with blond dreadlocks
Swings his arms back and forth, ready to threw the ball.
The wild girl moves, the man throws his ball, the crowd cheers, trucks honk,
And the pins are hit!
Everyone jumps in the air, everyone claps and whistles,
And the game starts over again.
Bowling on highway 49 in North San Juan, California.
These wild free spirits are my friends.
I feel like I'm bowling with bumpers,
I'm an amateur in the game,
I want you to teach me how,
because I don't want to get strike,
when I should have fallen out,
when the light go off at the end of the day
I think of all the madness i did
all of my regrets
all of the things i wish i said
then i remembered
even if the road we painted together lakes enough paint we will still ride in a free lane
I remember that love is a feeling and not a thing
I remember how i abused its magic to make you feel something
Then i remember that i never forgot it and
the only regret i had was loosing you