Horizontal (Like A Rocket)

It's always the same for the men in the long coats, These flowing locks of new-birthed hair in flames Like running paint on the canvas acrylic of memory stuttered glistening, Shaky white-gloved hands shaking hands and glasses of burgundy or bourbon, Splashing hissing liquid, lovely on spotted rugs Disused and marred by long since parties festive throwing, To varnish today the marks of the past in Walnut or Cherry. An increased tempo. Pinback, alone in Donny's garage, play "Rousseau" and record it. It lingers as much for its ambiguity as for its purity. "Is a part of my soul asleep today?" Apart, lips scream vulgarities to each other - Brought together a bridge of moisture tension shivers. In the ovary of the masses a fetus is forming, a mob child never destined for beauty but always Misunderstanding an unintentional signal of hands waving. No one to wipe your chin but all to intimate slowly fading jibes. Population explosion regulation destiny. St. Matthew's Island. A voice choking. Marianne Faithful, high on cocaine, singing "Broken English" on live television. It is classic and heartbreaking. I imagine she sings to herself. "What are you fighting for?" The aforementioned of us have disavowed ideals, Sprawled amphibious, still lungs breathing. Question the emphasis. Question the emphasis! New mythologies raised high for history's sharpened scalpel, It's all the same for the men in the long coats, Chasing flowing locks of fallen dreams spiraling faster than young women, Support bras brushing the murk of city lights, Rockets burning away the clouds, Dirty thoughts collecting in the concavity of holiness, A duel. A gust of wind. Eye contact. A single repeated note. I don't know the circumstances behind Clinic's "Goodnight, Georgie." Slowly electronic music mates with inherently doomed innocence. "All that you ask for comes from dreams." Could we just dance now topple thrones in two-step thunder? Can I just bring you baskets brimming apples sinful red and poison? Let us gather and consume until they are not visible as such, Beauty untinged with foreknowledge tasting on the sweet spot of tongues, Perhaps a lilting song to bring the divided to a new awareness, And a trip to somewhere cold and dusty, Where the truth will hit home hardest with the few who never needed, To lead is to change the destination, And understanding begets curiosity slowly choking. Screaming useless poetry. A backlit boy searching for a cause to champion. Unnecessary. Misses the point. "Question the emphasis. Question the emphasis!"hey... just want to emphasize that the title is NOT random - keep in mind while reading, things might make a little more sense... and I encourage you to look into the songs I mentioned for a) your enjoyment, because they are good, and further understanding into the general ideas I'm trying to address... eh! itch... me...! Written November 13th, 2001 © on Nov 13 2001 02:25 AM PST   0 • 11 • 9