through a daze or
what is probably just
a thin
blue gun-smoke haze
resting gently over
the heads of cats dressed
in black
hanging on the bar of some uber-hip
club
cloves in the hands of the
artistically hip
following the andy-christ
to
oblivion
back-beat dub
back step regress
in reverant love to old modes
and old toads
spinning in their graves
at the impression that
that at some point
once poised
truly ready to dive
now relaxed and exultant only
in the idea that once some
seeming
similar
were ready to jump
finding the question;
why die trying
when you know the
plasticine wings strapped to your back probably wont
catch wind
envy little icarus
the feet that may have faltered
but had at least
once
left the ground
standing in shadows
away from the sight of the sun
pallid and callow
comfort quashed
revolution
of the 45
whir of the diskette drive
how many summers is it taken lying down
hedonism
why rock stars die
choked on some sickly
green abomonation of vomit
sit-com / strap on
make me bleed with it
el dia de los muertos
it's cliche
but
say a prayer for rain
(oh so cliche)
to flush this superfluous
residue
of electric lights on retina
fun house screams
of everyday
dreams
dying behind plywood flats
painted all gorey
it's a symbol of
the story of this life

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