Sep 17
Fuchsia flecked, rhinestone-rimmed cowboy hat
Embroidered boots to match
Silver spurs, slick, sharp and shimmering
Lookin’ brand new but battered beneath
Travelled far, walking the jagged beat
Where have I been?
Where am I?
Have you seen my mind
Floating in fermented bliss
From the Journey’s Inn,
Destination for friends old and new
Veterans from valleys of domestic arms race,
Comparing wounds from the endless chase
For elusive, blood-drenched euclace.
Oh, the cheap whiskey
Burns brighter
Than all the dead desire
Where carrion birds gather
At the corpse of joy
Bottoms up
Chin chin
Let the velvet gospel begin
Mr. Depression enters the room
A silver slash of sorrow
Sick with his own lore
“Fancy meeting you,” he croons, cold
“Lookin’ like you need a bitter brew to hold”
Warm whiskey winds down the throat’s hallowed hall
To rattle the rusted lock on memory’s mausoleum wall
Have you seen me before?
You might recall—last week, perhaps
Grumpy, frumpy, meek, weak collapse
My garden of grace, paved over with gravel and grit
Wilted and wasted in drought’s cruel spit
Crawling through viper pits and dens of bad deeds
I felt relief
Of quenching parched desire
With earned fire in a glass
Oh, the cheap whiskey
Burns brighter
Than all the dead desire
Where carrion birds gather
At the corpse of joy
Bottoms up
Chin chin
Let the velvet gospel begin
Two stools to sit upon
Lost boy and riot girl
Pink Lady and Velvet Gentleman
Again and again
Bottoms up
Chin chin
They laugh at the tribute band
Silly performance on the slanted stage
Baring crooked teeth
Yellowed from age
Chipped from rage
Filed down by fate
Two AM, wobbling down the jagged street
Holding up the night’s end
Keeping everyone awake
Our lonely bones vibrating
With resonating lust
Urban lamps flickering
Like my wine-coloured iris
Oh, but what are dreams
When fiction binds at the seams
Creating woven fabric of tapestry
Truth in forward motion
Stitching together fragments of reality
Like Casper the ghost, drifting down wishing wells
Pleading, plundered, pitiful
Unseen to those untouched by sorrow
But tonight
With my fuchsia hat
And a bombastic laugh
That overshadows the grief
That had once been on tap
Grabbing grief by the gnarled neck
Shaking loose threads of regret
Into more useful shapes
In bedrooms with velvet duvets
Oh, the cheap whiskey
Burns brighter
Than all the dead desire
We stitch our sorrow
Into velvet fire
Bottoms up
Chin chin
Let the velvet gospel begin
Embroidered boots to match
Silver spurs, slick, sharp and shimmering
Lookin’ brand new but battered beneath
Travelled far, walking the jagged beat
Where have I been?
Where am I?
Have you seen my mind
Floating in fermented bliss
From the Journey’s Inn,
Destination for friends old and new
Veterans from valleys of domestic arms race,
Comparing wounds from the endless chase
For elusive, blood-drenched euclace.
Oh, the cheap whiskey
Burns brighter
Than all the dead desire
Where carrion birds gather
At the corpse of joy
Bottoms up
Chin chin
Let the velvet gospel begin
Mr. Depression enters the room
A silver slash of sorrow
Sick with his own lore
“Fancy meeting you,” he croons, cold
“Lookin’ like you need a bitter brew to hold”
Warm whiskey winds down the throat’s hallowed hall
To rattle the rusted lock on memory’s mausoleum wall
Have you seen me before?
You might recall—last week, perhaps
Grumpy, frumpy, meek, weak collapse
My garden of grace, paved over with gravel and grit
Wilted and wasted in drought’s cruel spit
Crawling through viper pits and dens of bad deeds
I felt relief
Of quenching parched desire
With earned fire in a glass
Oh, the cheap whiskey
Burns brighter
Than all the dead desire
Where carrion birds gather
At the corpse of joy
Bottoms up
Chin chin
Let the velvet gospel begin
Two stools to sit upon
Lost boy and riot girl
Pink Lady and Velvet Gentleman
Again and again
Bottoms up
Chin chin
They laugh at the tribute band
Silly performance on the slanted stage
Baring crooked teeth
Yellowed from age
Chipped from rage
Filed down by fate
Two AM, wobbling down the jagged street
Holding up the night’s end
Keeping everyone awake
Our lonely bones vibrating
With resonating lust
Urban lamps flickering
Like my wine-coloured iris
Oh, but what are dreams
When fiction binds at the seams
Creating woven fabric of tapestry
Truth in forward motion
Stitching together fragments of reality
Like Casper the ghost, drifting down wishing wells
Pleading, plundered, pitiful
Unseen to those untouched by sorrow
But tonight
With my fuchsia hat
And a bombastic laugh
That overshadows the grief
That had once been on tap
Grabbing grief by the gnarled neck
Shaking loose threads of regret
Into more useful shapes
In bedrooms with velvet duvets
Oh, the cheap whiskey
Burns brighter
Than all the dead desire
We stitch our sorrow
Into velvet fire
Bottoms up
Chin chin
Let the velvet gospel begin
