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Carter Monroe |
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mortal sunday bird soaring in the next room with charlie waller and john lee the silent screen brings visions of athletes and whores to the front life is out there somewhere begging for mercy in an altruistic manner muted by opinions and groups bound by the prison of reassurance catnaps stalk men silently on sunday afternoons like bobcats mired in stealth betraying no logic in search of the prey my head is a home within a home where imagination fights to free itself from cut grass, washed cars, and misinterpretation what to write before the swirl begins what to think before the muse hits how to be in twilight dusk of life who to know to make it better what to love in the end live at the montreaux jazz festival eddie harris sax hovering over the tops of les's keys black and white in sync with god's own sense of jump and jive perfection i wanna soar over the top and mouth the words in a night-trained run of cosmic sequined overture verging into a seamless spiel my back and forths equate to notes words always fail compared to sound i wanna spur a jaunt toward the light feel the whisper like a cold shower move the mood in a sinful spree everything and nothing becoming the same one song to the next - always the case roaming inside with now, tomorrow, and yesterday merging like a collage venting the melodies of combined emotions the warm feeling kicks in - another 24 behind bobbing and weaving in the listening kicking, scratching, wishing, smiling wet hair matted - ceiling fan - holding head up silence is a surprise - quick breaths emerge time to make it soft - i'll let gram parsons bring me down dilemma i once saw literature everywhere walking through faulknerian wooded haunts tailing barking dogs that circled scented trails old men carrying shotguns, spitting tobacco juice, whooping at the sight of the prey, cursing missed shots trying to "cut him off" before he got to the swamp i once saw literature everywhere occupying a barstool on a regular basis grown men drunk and crying over lost loves toot in the back room bought, sold, snorted women leaving their husbands and fucking the guys who sit beside them every day i once saw literature everywhere fat, spandexed women spanking babies with gusto in massive chain department stores wasted husbands following sallow wives wandering by shelves of nothing in search of same buying something to make the saturday seem worthwhile i once saw literature everywhere paired women walking the streets in masquerade exercise being superfluous in friendships built upon alibi with need for "outside" relationship and something more than the home front held in its wanton taken for granted state children old enough not to require attention, so why not i once saw literature everywhere people picking their noses at stoplights turn signaling becoming a lost art driving via cruise control passing and being passed by the same people again and again cell phones stuck to ears as cars weave drunkenly i once saw literature everywhere card games in the backs of service stations carrying into the evenings long after closing the last 30 dollars spent to match a losing pot wives calling and being lied to the sheriff coming to wink and take husbands home i once saw literature everywhere college kids with poems coming to my door saying they heard from their parents that i used to be "out there" and maybe i would like to read their scattered tirades and asking me if i knew green day i once saw literature everywhere births, deaths, lives lived in a flash every single one a better book than has been written car wrecks, handicaps, divorce, tragedies, reactions the token promises made from stale remembrance in some off brand divine tragedy of "i thought i should" i once saw literature everywhere |