~
I drove the spike that bent the spine,
the screaming left me at the turnstile
without exact change and late for the sunset
Slippery tracks added to the conceit
where beggars paint sidewalks
in day-glo Picassos leaking onto the curb
Cardboard memories create warmth
in perforated dreams,
paying cost for something broken
and the conductor signals
a left turn on a straight run
creasing the permanent press avenue
Billboards say “god is not dead”
until their contract runs out
and the labels are peeled for good
Still I stand here holding the hammer
swinging between the rafters
in this life after death revelry
on any night of the week
that brings each moment
to a complete standstill
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
~
I drove the spike that bent the spine,
the screaming left me at the turnstile
without exact change and late for the sunset
Slippery tracks added to the conceit
where beggars paint sidewalks
in day-glo Picassos leaking onto the curb
Cardboard memories create warmth
in perforated dreams,
paying cost for something broken
and the conductor signals
a left turn on a straight run
creasing the permanent press avenue
Billboards say “god is not dead”
until their contract runs out
and the labels are peeled for good
Still I stand here holding the hammer
swinging between the rafters
in this life after death revelry
on any night of the week
that brings each moment
to a complete standstill
Just a quick written piece of beer inspired nonsense.
