my last breath

it is cold today, overcast, lonely...the pubs are endless, miles and miles of alcohol filled dreams...they sit and watch football, they sit and dream of better days, they sit and stare at their beers...they dread the outside, the streetlights, lit and stretching on to eternity...they try and forget, forget conception, forget revolution, forget their lovers' vacant unwilling eyes...and tonite i will travel out into the frigid streets, into the dead-eyed masses, my church is this world...my cathedrals are crumbling underfoot along with red-eyed cigarette butts...i am burning down to the filter, i am disappearing like smoke into the air...to float away on a soft winter breeze...and the pure radiant light of beyond is calling me...ready to turn down the bed and ease me into peaceful repose...

the streets of philadelphia

"fare thee well, gone away, there's nothing left to say"...i sit home after a few wild weeks...i sit by the delaware looking off into camden...the campbells soup sign blazing in the distance...the currents slowly rocking me to sleep...the air burning me to the bone...i walked the fancy-pants blocks, i stumbled pre-pubescent streets...i climbed the granite steps, and looked upon the parisian boulevards...lost again since god knows when...lost again and at peace...death crept upon my withered soul and i thought about the past...the schuylkill river shining like ice in the sun...what has brought me to this life, is it genetics, the cosmic stew, the comforting embrace of the divine?...i live in this grand city, and i visit lesser ones...another night in the grasp of john jameson...another night in the land of the dead...

picasso in the early morning...

i stand between quiet city lights...smoking cigarettes, pissing on the grass...the moon floats through the cloudy rain swept skies...the tired new year-ed eyes...i watch the trees rising from the concrete...i negotiate double-visioned fences...the streets are clogged with the remnants of my inebriation...standing in the half-light i ponder broken down windows...the light from the basement, the light from my bed, soft and warm...what has brought me to this peace in the lower nineties...what has brought me to the smiling angel inside the door?...i dream vodka covered dreams...i see misty mountain horizons...and it falls away, like this cluttered room...like the shadow's soft embrace...