It’s 10:50 pm
A windy day, at lest for this town.
33 slithers in my soul, 34…
Never put your hopes up, or everything
Will come tumbling down.
I could smell all that rot being carried
By that breeze for miles and miles.
“And I know by now the children must be crying in
The land where they let the children cry…”
Kerouac said that.
35 slithers in my soul, 36…
The blade is moving swiftly, I can barly
Feel. Or maybe I’ve become that numb.
The candle is burning, dancing it’s ritualistic
Dance. Staring at me, my hazel eyes she
Loves twinkling in that radiance.
I let myself go, the wind carried me
Like a mother would.
37 slithers in my soul, 38…
Life is a concerto in D minor.
I’m listening to Bach’s mass in B minor,
From ink to sound to flesh and blood.
I light a cigarette from the candle,
The tip of my cig kissed its flame.
I felt like a feather against that flow,
Floating aimlessly, lost.
39 slithers in my soul, 40…
You must be lost in order to be found.
It’s 11:15 pm,