Unholy heretics fell from the sky
I try to quiet the inner voices in me that tell me my success has been nothing but a fluke.
I look for a friendly face,
It was completely surreal, walking up to slake their thirst.
Marvel at fire dancing in the windows as their feet move up the walkway.
In this respect, it doesn’t matter because
I’m a long way from home, but these feelings and this kind of company are familiar.
I’m not hearing the music. I’m not even hearing the rain 15 stories down.
They’re finding passion in places we aren’t looking, and
lose it in places we are supposed to care about.
We should all be so lucky in our lives
to create things
but they are gaining strength and I can feel it.
Love never gives up.
the summer flowers have faded away, but the first snowmen are still months away.
He’s chain smoking American Spirits, drinking coffee and water and nibbling on chocolate pretzels.
An Irish goodbye as lethal as a bite.
Clearly gorgeous, eyes all cinders, aglow.
The Gargoyle grin splits his face across the equator. He doesn’t say a word.
He has become partial to Prada suits, worn with a white shirt and a dark tie,
blue eventually will kill
a taste for the macabre, strewed with rubies thick as gravel.
When he speaks he makes every syllable count;
“When it comes to music, everyone has a story”. he says.
“People have this one sided relationship, where they look at a picture,
and thing they know you. I won’t go quietly.”
His face stays that as same as the children,
“I like crazy people who don’t give a fuck”.
He sat and had a beer, undisturbed my paparazzi or fans.
“We travel together” he says,
and so given his aversion to the sun,
I look in my rearview mirror,
but see no reflection.
Can’t untie you from me,
I admired his sullen face,
stained and lost through age,
but soon his eyes grew brilliant lightbulbs
so I could rock his body to and fro.
Waken thou with me,
and the whole thing starts again.
“Dude what the fuck is going on?”
All around him the rows are so uniformly strait it’s evident they’ve been painstakingly cultivated.
Dreaming to him, an idea of stern duty. Ever the old soul he smiles
“that’s bullshit,” he says. “Never turn your back on the ocean.”
Then he pays the foreman for the repairs and tells them he owes them for rushing.
He continued his story,
a way of keeping himself focused on
what matters to him.
The emergency vehicles as they moved towards an accident or hospital.
Supplementing his oatmeal with seawater as part of a morning ritual to become one with the ocean.
“Lets go out and do this,” he says.
awaited the gulls
“Oh I don’t know,” he says finally.
And this was the reason you arrived with someone else’s story in your head,
and left with your own.
Today there are waves.
We’re up before the sun.
and jazzed by the spark of danger.
They pulled it off of course.
Would that my tongue utter
the thoughts that arise in me.
I was just lucky enough to be there, and document the moment.
“I love you still, and I always will”.
Copyright Hellsmedic, 2012