Is that death? coming through my open window gasping on my coffee breath and cigarette eye ***** blue to the touch of Chicago days Michigan waits on an owl head the perched up body of subconscious me I grasp onto November and eat the birds that have gone south follow destiny by her hair long long road highway legs Love is nothing to be proud of clocks lay willingly ***** by times palm and ****** fingernails I am a wolf I am the candle sitting at your tombstone money and a job waits the tie the belt the tucked in shirt gravel and oil in your mouth you dribble my words like a baby not so ready for earth the orchestra explodes with human emotions yet is mute to the tongue with words and the outside city blue man lighten lights that shimmer like gold in Nevada creeks that end up in California gold rush ****** by pistols and machetes and guitar songs sung by the not so ready boys of the world singing french songs and love songs and songs that replicate the Greek goddess' that we once prayed too but now we sit alone on rooftops and gargoyles mock us as we stone taxi cabs and young men for being gay for being true for being life but what is life? Doesn’t it hang by a fingernails that god chews on when a man is born with 12 fingers? I say we are all destined to live everyone is destined to die in a hospital room watching cable television and the songs of Christmas leak into the bathroom walls and cockroaches leech onto food molding like the blinding eyes of Beethoven but the angels of alligator city still sing and curse my name for loving them in night showers of Kansas toxic snow rain melting at the cognitive touch of my ashtray fingers I lay down and sink into the bottom of the cities ocean bed I look for fish I look for tombstones with my name I look for Neruda's last word maybe its in the rain somewhere encoded in the ****** markings of a lover that I once kissed and danced with with wine as the birds and bears were away in the dark forest eating berries that rhyme with colors and we are all dancing to the same song of deaths tune and gods choreographed workings the coffin business is high the gravel stocks are up we are all burying something in the backyard whether it be useless crystals great grandmothers necklace turquoise eyes that shimmer like native American destiny walking in deep snows coughing in up down out diseases **** the cowboys **** the office **** the temper **** the Christians **** the rifle owners **** the politicians of Washington city
my mind is made up I will sit drunkenly in a apartment room with a wine glass filled with piano keys half off sold for a 30 cents each and my cigarette and my mind will be left alone for the spiders and the cable television to devour like a poor boy eating a peach that he found after it rained for 3 days oh how it glimmered purple in the grayed city vision. Like a painting perched up in a home a cabinet with nothing to eat but bread crumbs and a sip of expensive whiskey left out for the fruit flies and the insects that gave way to human emotions oh how we all dream of nothing and sit on bar stools drinking beer drinking ourselves drinking women drinking ****** drinking **** drinking me drinking Beethoven's last dream gasping for a another song but the defining ear sound of deaths call is too loud and even the fire flies hide beneath the shadowy light of my palm looking for ideas too give to their mothers instead they got to pawn shops and sell their golden necklace for a pack of red cigarettes.