quasi_sean

it's a cold motel in December...

there were good times littered thru out this life--times that glowed and i floated thru my days euphoric and everything beneath the galaxy was possible no distortions allowed only hope that was pure and virginal and defined a child's dreams. there we sat together, cudding near tombstones or swimming careless in the river--

and the mountains.
they lurk w/smiles.

somewhere down that old road you come upon death that smells like the taste of hundreds of pills or broken trees and rotting wood hidden these scenes of destruction plant seeds on the path to the factories and there is no food but discarded and weather-worn pornography photos scattered about and w/in the weeds we constucted a castle--

there i sat for ten years in silent protest against the coming of the night.

i brought myself to this frozen womb where the life will end.

these bathtubs
and rusted sinks
spill over onto the floor
so strange
that i'll drown in the tears and this is only a game
until the lites dim...and dim...

to be left, staring like the statue at the wall and there are bugs nesting in my hair that sticks to the tile.

we imagine this as a painting left abandoned in the backyard of a church, or whatever your holy place may be.

*applaud the evening*