Familiar Faces
7/05/2005
Lost and dead
My heavy floating corpse takes aim
for home lead-footed, starving and weary
My wife and lover
paints faces and
sells pretty bright things
She stuffs the van
full of trinkets and gadgets
She arranges her paints
her brushes
her blinking lights
and shining things
She is on a
capitalist mission
to help put food
in my body
to help lift us
from the wicked world
into greater things
She teams with Martin
the vagabond
looks like charles bronson
with bleached hair
strange
and rough
and soft
with kind
sad angelic eyes
like a dying animal - like me
we share a kinship of
rough edges
He is a caricature
artist
with thin squared-off
moustache
smells faintly of not
bathing
He is one of
the roughs
lives by his art
alone
and nothing
more
This weekend of freedom
of loud explosions, wandering
lost animals, I bow out
a friend has materialized
from my clouded past, and more
come crawling like earthworms
to the surface
after a rain has come
But no one is home,
so I follow 3rd Street
to its dismal apex,
for a shot of whiskey.
Following the rusty signs
and the old dismal architecture
and the street people
to Arnie's where
Yet another
familiar face awaits
Old Chad Malone
from the Glory Days
His shimmering,
short-haired sweetheart
singing irish folk songs tonight
He is setting up speakers
and shaking my weary hand,
welcoming me to the weary world
of weary people
with dying embers
in our eyes
and streams of whisky
ending in our graves
eventually
posted by Edward Svengali @ Tuesday, July 05, 2005,
