Sunset Reflections (and The Secrets of Burgundy Doom)

The weight of this morbid

                                 Obese-Fat-Failing

Silence

falls heavy between us, again

Falling,

like the screaming cinderblock doom

of your own bitter creation

Your own screwed up reality, sugar

Your own dark, whispered, spell

Trapped here in this furnace of futility

Trapped here in ragged mescaline rages

In the blood red dawning of inspired gloom

Waiting for something new to rise

Overwhelmed with the desire to wipe away

this banal fealty

Sickened by stagnation

Suffocating on sullen acquiescence

and

repressed remonstrance

Weary of holding together separate entanglements

Burnt on smoky nowheres

piled 20 years high

II. 

Moving away

(at warp speed)

from the consequences of sleazy endeavors

from my own lost- Mad- abandon

from my own sad, failing, want

Lost in a thousand soft eyes

And split skirt thighs

Baptized in Tanqueray and Tequila

Seeking absolution in absentia

                     in anonymous sex

in swinging neon nights when Music

is the only thing holding my battered soul

together

Loneliness never abated

                     never sated

                  never yielding

            never understood

No admiration

        adulation

inspiration nor hot belief

has ever pierced this wounded veil

No face sought nor conquered

resting long in this restless heart of stone

I see you rolling up-oblivion

Emanating in waves from the hot streets

I see you in palisades and soft parades

And the face of newborn love

I see you in the visual cliché

of hot blondes racing along in red Camaros

in the hard luck demeanor

of whiskey voiced waitresses

flirting for tips in florescent nightmares

in the slow, swaying, dance of time

III.

I see you in the lazy yawn of

flea bitten hounds guarding the gate

of domestic hope from the cool shade

of grand eternity

I see you in the eyes of soccer moms

Singing along with the radio

as Poison pulls them back to their

day-glo heyday-1987

I see you here, Now, in full effect

Waiting…

I see you in the silent sleepwalk of sacred suburbia

Lost in the celestial solace of Sangria

Cocktails and barbeques

Ice cream-Bourbon and Soul

Children stomping in muddy puddles

Cigarette ghosts behind every loose association

25 ft. from the door

Tied to the pride of the new side

The latest grope

The latest need

The greatest fuck

The longest bleed

Willful to have it all

sewed up and displayed

and far faster than seeking

Identity.