Sunday, October 31, 2010

A Song by .38 Special

For more on this topic, see The Immortal Coffee Urn

The ghosts, today, have taken hold,
the chains of what I've created rankle,
that sound, through the treacherous wind,
that song that won't let go

can't live without you...

It gnaws like tendons on my bones,
it haunts me wherever I go: as I reach
for the garbanzo beans, as I string out the pumpkins
for Halloween, that insidious whistle as I rake the hissing leaves

I never want to set myself free...

Finally a respite in the Walmart parking lot
as I pray that I'm finally free:
"get on the world, everybody, join hands, c'mon
on a love train, love train" and everybody dances,
the sky and earth connect for a still and shining moment...

but the helium soon enough resumes,
the invulnerable 80's riveting gun,
the fangs, the fur, the talons, the scales:

You're the one that's got me down on my knees...

And now, as the afternoon shadows
blur into a dream world, and the raptors
that are flying through the air, not even there
shriek like static their supremacy, it speaks again:

So caught up in you, little girl...

The bells and flutes wail in the distance
awaiting the children of the witching hour,
who know nothing of my tell-tale undead beat,
who will sing as if no songs were ever sung

Baby it's true, you're the one...

The trees have all turned to skeletons
but still this romance lingers on,
some feeling stays alive through me
in the ashes of a song

So caught up in you...

What we stumble on may grow into a flu,
the smallest things can turn immortal,
can become the voices of the hierarchy,
our sadness locked like spheres inside the azure.

1 comment:

Hannah Stephenson said...

What we stumble on may grow into a flu.

Yup. Obsession is viral.