Monday, August 21, 2006

bands come and go

the song was rough
a mule with a broken leg
chugging alone over boulders
a sync of a blind man
and a mute
walking through the sand
with oversized shoes
a slow go
and no traction
we are all trying
are damnest to groove
it feels like red blues
something sticky
with every beat
even the 64 par lights
are dimming and shorting
and candles flicker
in a spastic rhyme
the audience is shifting
one leg over the other
as the rain
begins out of the blue
the bartender is mixing
wrong drinks
a drop of perspiration
trickles off my chick bone
dropping to the persian rug
we’ve played this song
now it is a horrid accident
on a wet street careening
over a cliff
we all know why
we all are too lazy to admit it
why it’s old
and we don’t care
and the stench of finished
unsettles our yellow bellies
we are pros
rolling our eyes
rolling over in the grave
our spirits sneaking
out the window
for a quick one

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