05 August 2012

50. cross road blues

The car is on fire
and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied 
with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows. 

The government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn. 

We're trapped in the belly 
of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death. 

The sun has fallen down
and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead 
at the top of their poles. 

It went like this: 

The buildings tumbled in on themselves.
Mothers clutching babies 
picked through the rubble
and pulled out their hair. 

The skyline was beautiful on fire,
all twisted metal stretching upwards,
everything washed in a thin orange haze.

I said, 
kiss me, you're beautiful -
these are truly the last days.

You grabbed my hand 
and we fell into it
like a daydream 
or a fever.

We woke up one morning 
and fell a little further down.
For sure it's the valley of death.

I open up my wallet
and it's full of blood.

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