Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Keep in mind, they only let you ride 'em for money...

The beast stirs outside my front door; whispers her silent enticements like a metal Harpy, tells me what I want to hear just like a five foot blonde who knows she’s carrying my soul in her hip pocket like a set of shiny keys that crank a mustang ford she’d trade in tomorrow for a hot rod chevy

Days like today when I’m exhausted to the point of physical impairment; shambling through the day like a drunk in a liquor store line; get home, get changed, tune in, drop out; still she purrs that silver song just beyond the castle gate; lets go, c’mon baby let’s just get real gone; swing a leg over me and let’s screw it on

Doesn’t care if I’m sick in my head, doesn’t care if I’m sick in my heart, offers up her burning opiate on the two-lane tarmac of some forgotten stretch of back country where you can buy gasoline and eat a cheeseburger and enjoy a brew and a short square all under the same dilapidated roof and you can hear the locusts as they hum along with her in fenceless fields of cotton

Euphoria rolls over the top of her like the asphalt underneath; It’s alright she coos, just keep going; leads me farther away from home, further from reality and deeper into wherever my imagination fancies like a con man reeling in his mark; the bitch doesn’t care; just wants to run on like that forever; keeps me drunk on petrol promises and lithium sunsets

And I believe her until the light ebbs under the horizon and her highway heroin wanes and I realize I am not nineteen years old anymore and I have to work in the morning and the morning after that

And I force her back to the porch where she sprawls out long and low and curses me; lying all the while her sweet lies until I stumble out into the hot night air against all reason and its back on the road under a moon with lightning to the east; sweating like high school sex in the back seat of a car as the pines slip by into the stifling humidity like a blues riff runs off a slide guitar

Drunk on the past present and future, surreal dreams distorted by wind and sound and smell interrupted by sudden and intense albeit brief moments of sobriety; during which I wonder with a fear that tastes like blood in my mouth if this could be the last time

But what the fuck does she care,
So long as she can seduce she'll live long after I've come and gone.

No comments:

Post a Comment