I think that I ‘m lost here.
Found a place called America,
and then it’s gone again.
Such a shame, too.
A mass-marketed grave
for the whole of us,
the half of my consciousness
that still thinks this is wrong.
Something just not right,
nothing left behind
to reflect in mirrors
hung over smoky bars.
I get ponderous after midnight,
and the bartenders
don’t appreciate it.
Craving meaning.
Scented candles really do help
ease me into thought.
So hard to come by;
So hard to vanquish
The smell of man,
faintly, left of my peripheral
erased utterly by a breeze.
Scent of snow on the wind
that somehow turns to rain
in my America
where the highways don’t lead home,
and the back roads hold no future.
And nothing in between.
Gone too soon
from the left of my peripheral.
Scented candles burnt to nothing
on fresh-turned ground
that never was a grave
but might as well have been.
Dead, all but the most cowardly.
Lost in a bar.

02/14/2003

Author's Note: Valentine's Day always puts me in such a state. Bah!

Posted on 02/15/2003
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