17th Ave (revised)

Cold nights hanging deep with Electric fish twitching in the brewing bubble tea for the Inconsequential on the eaves asleep. The every motion seems frozen as if pulled by unfeeling ties that grip your six-shooter dozen piling outwards. [islands of lies] The advent of hands, the end comes in pulses. Crowning brightly, the atomic goddess nightly let us (for a few dollars) look around her bends. The roads themselves are ever new, changing in the face of the inevitable neon virgins, and the insurmountable. Even concrete is not solid [in the literal sense], when disease infects with cool collapse, but tears of fools and faith of martyrs drive the tools of flesh and rules of consequence. [look what miracles we have wrought] Blips in the shadows mark the passing of ants [how wise the acrobat] in the dark emptiness of infinite majestic royalty born of faithless and toneless loyalty. When it ends, Back where it begins, The fog rolls back To the solidness they lack. I had the time, it stopped for me [many apologies] Death rode on, dumping its mysteries. Written January 17th, 2002 © on Jan 17 2002 11:50 AM PST   0 • 9