Nailed to History

autumnrhythm

 

Hands upon the canvas. Hands on her breasts. Cigarettes in the gutter like seasons spent in hell. Six sheets to the wind. Coffee in the pot like mental illness shifting through petrified trees. Closed-mouthed nothings across the table in a war-torn cafe. Boredom in approach. Aching formalities when the removal of clothes is all that’s needed. Brokenness beneath a broken lightbulb. Bottles of sand mixed with drunken kisses. Years dissolved while walking familiar footpaths. It’s in the sunken air. It’s in the sadness trapped within neglected buildings. Symbols between her legs, and syllables on innocent earlobes. Break through the great divide. Smash wide open those moonlit lenses. European unconsciousness. Jazz on her neck as teeth move around silent guns. Murals on tender torsos. Take me as I am. Let these shadows of mine move like a boy on warm, summer afternoons. Demons in a parking lot, abandoned like a mother’s womb. Drinking to remember. Drinking to forget. Like a storm, he says it will pass. But these storms can last a lifetime. A pack of beer in the glovebox. Crows tapping at the cracked window above our heads. New York statues on the end of every fucking block. Just like in London, but not as lame. Long Island horrors. Animals circling the lighthouse without so much as an inkling of surprise. Obliterate that skull and make it pure. At one with every single atom. Inside every strange dream. Plant seeds you know you’ll never see bloom. It’s a one-way ticket, but immortality is worth every last ounce. Sacrifice makes a man worth more. Surface is surface. Confusion brings strength as the penny drops for the last time. My art is sacred. Nothing and no one can cross that barrier. It reigns completely. On the edges of discovery, the universe bends to my will. False like western ignorance. Belittled like a struggling fool on the hill. Life magazine used as a lubricant. Catharsis like a bed of flowers. Making love, not as a passage or a full stop, but as a signal of intent. Breaking the ice. Express these plagued ages, and nail them to history.

6 replies »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s