slow dancing under a meteor shower
memories are clickbait. those parts of us that we cling to within the hopeless terms of ‘reality’. when the incidental remains on the shelf too long true meanings are lost. ashes of the dead cat scattered at the outlet.
i drag the past to a pit
and beat the shit out of it
dont own the clothes i am wearing
in the sixties a lot happened. most of it i will just keep to myself. but i will tell you that we spent little time keeping up appearances and even less wearing a stitch of covering. why did we go to southern california. why did we take spring break in florida. well. we let a lot more than our freak flags fly i can tell you that.
on a porch
with no chairs
we rock all night
heavy metal prelude
my tastes in everything are eclectic. before i crank metallica and black sabbeth up to max on my car radio i listen to a little hillary han and khatia buniatishvili. if the world is going to ever be ‘fixed’ we are going to need every tool in the toolbox.
before the last one
that was the best