Ringed fingers run across sculpted chests, and they don their red stained lipstick vests. "Roxanne" plays in the background, and it feels like raindrops falling down, because my eyes are cold, and blue, and wet.
Misty eyes and tired smoke breathe deep through aching, weary lungs. We cry in alleyways and choke on strange bedfellows with probing tongues. My heart is filled with tear stained jokes. My jeans are filled with crumbled ones.
. Maple over water, Hunched by wind and rain, Lithe branches reaching, Into the complacent garden pool, You are like a catcher of wisdom, A sculpture of spirit, so many hands To reach with you, as you leave, So many thoughts that sway As a troubled mind is reaching With the wind and the rain, Maple over water.
they were riders on the iron horse acting as though it were a 30 minute hitch to the next town no one disembarked there were no stops some shared stories some sat around the man stood tall dark wavy hair tattered flannel shirt words and symbols as scars on chest and back the woman was flattering she had a musical laugh vision fully impaired yet grazed the mans skin and read her epitaph