run!

run!

 

malachite soul-windows

sparkle with unchained torrents

of instinctual love

and criminal intent.

 

our faces collided

and something exploded.

 

tastes suspicious:

menthol cigarettes

soaked in cheap whiskey

sopped up with a gas station burrito

glazed with lime Lick-M-Aid.

 

we eat like urban goats on the spotted lamb,

burn like petrol in the frigid sky,

dance like Comanche in the town square,

and melt like plastic soldiers in the sun.

 

bountiful dysfunction,

beautiful destruction,

derogatory beguilement

drain the blistered heart.

start the mystic engine,

set a course for manic entangle.

I’m Major Tom riding side-saddle

on a hotrod painted nuclear bomb.

death wish blastoff!

 

beneath the leather,

blood,

ink

and cool

there’s a romantic fool’s heart

begging for it all

to mean something;

something beyond

bullshit neon,

leather bucket seats,

soiled motel linens,

and the lifelong road-rash

of battered bass line angst.

 

tomorrow could be topshelved

or tombstoned ,

but tonight is a joyride

through orgasmic limbo.

 

all is as it should be;

less painful than it could be.

Forever is the mystery

that sleeps between

Maybe’s thighs.

 

and, Why?

Why is a pissed off amnesiac

with a gun.

 

light that fuse,

and

run!

Author's Note

sweeter than a donkey punch, meaner than a rattlesnake,
common as a bag lunch, downhill on the rollerskates . . .
CRASH!

Reviews

[E.H. Monroe]

its a love song for a big a*s biker wearing his tattooes and emotions under a leacther jacket having a f**k of a time trying to make sense of the colors and rapidly passing faces that screw by him at bullet train speeds
the recurring theme of uncertaintly kicks this b***h into high gears..a few of them, like 9 of them. Sleeping between maybes legs
the idea of seeing something beyond.
the theme is there and i like how you bury it like a f*****g treasure..

slaptastic and s**t

[roarke]

ah, prose and Author note tag team.

and, Why?
Why is a pissed off amnesiac
with a gun.

that's good stuff.
The pace of this is like ripping first-aid adhesive tape off a shrapnel wound.
trying to pin it down while still wincing from the hair of the dog
ah youth, NOT being wasted on you my friend.

bottle this vintage and put it in the wine cellar, it's already priceless.