Monday, January 30, 2017

The Old House

Lately, I have been following my
memories
Like bare footprints in mud
marching back
to my boyhood bedroom
in the
Old House

(Which is no more...)

The dated wallpaper and
carpet
The guitar-scars 'pon the ceiling

The air thick with art-pencil graphite
and nascent dreams

My old man violently reminding me
on a regular basis
That I am useless and stupid

And the radio seductively reminding me
on a regular basis
That I am alive and hopelessly artfucked

For reasons beyond comprehension
It's always late Autumn
and after midnight
In those memories...

Cold
and
Dark
and
Forever
Blissfully
Electric...

___________

*1/30/17

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