holiday: an adult's excuse to get overly loaded

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction." -E. F. Schumacher

(shallow/hollow)ween, streets piss scotch, dull memory into clouds of something dark but gentle, slurs on trolleys and pedicabs

Parades of freaks; the boys are the gals, the gals are the boys, oh boy, these gals,
Elbow to elbow in disorderly fashion and swagger, high heels and hand guns,
Armies of wigs, wands, wardens and wanderers, wonderful,
Short and trim, as if it had a purpose, and they serve it right, my eyes are on them,
Take something playful, youthful, make it dirty, sinful, it's that season, no complaints, my eyes are lost,
Saint Diego, my love is with you, for near bare beauties and proud cheers of proud queers,
Clowns and kings share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Revolving circles of gibberish, passing smoke like topics,
We clink glass and celebrate,
Bathroom walls, numbers and names, 'Mandy' illuminated in effulgent purple, broken tile, unapologetic mirrors,
Ached for air, staggered out, instead got urine, trash, alley cats, it goes black, i smile bearing winter petticoats of numbness,
Waves of existence carve at my bone like vultures to lunch, eyes fight to rip the seams,
Cold bricks and cool street, I love you,
Up again, crawl from the gutter, parade aint far, for it's everywhere
And, back to it, glitter and face paint shimmering shades of sunset,
Parades of freaks; the grown are all kids and the kids are all grown,
Streets crawling with lust and wild hearts cheering to youth, now so seemingly lost,
We struggle with the weight of our insides in attempt to distinguish the landmark of it's end,
But for now, we wage war in costume to dab our fingertips on the surface of it, reliving it in disguise,
An ethnic smile and a chuckle he passes me, whispers under his breath, blistered by my primal talk and drowning algorithmic, exchanging papers for bottles of something heavy, registers slam and doors ring as my shoes manufacture an exit,
Monsters and masquerade victims, chariots devour the streets, I flag and am awarded a servant,
Wind scratches cross my scalpel, lugged through the dark, pedicabs peculiar,
I sit in my throne, full on a sensation of royalty, I piss words like cheap production value to uninterested passerbys and mr. taxi horse,
End of the road, ramble and give him cash, and the lights take me from there,
Dorothys and witches share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Making conversation with busted brassieres and eyes from brown bouncers,
Laugh up smoke, choke, tight clothes on loose women,
Oh, eight ball, how I've missed you, scratch, I toss my loss to the victor, taking sticks back to their prisons,
We clink glass and celebrate,
Morning meal exits my doorway, subtle but in mourning, alley way of filth, detestable to the tongue, chunky soup sidewalk,
Rest for awhile, cold brick against the skull, face becomes center of gravity,
Up again, linger past the dumpster and back to the riot, my fond farewell to the friendship of alley critters and stomach acid stains,
They chant and dance, I follow, free from vehicle codes, traffic laws, lights are left alone to play out one role, vision for our match, fireworks crackle in the moonlight,
I blink and my balance beam is arctic, steel, my fingers make love around it; handrail, I love you.
Air picks a fist fight against my mugshot with cruel intention but fails with a vitalizing result, trolley cars and trolley tracks,
Nervous laughter of my possible fates from strangers digging their fingernails into my shoulder, my saviors from the rouge colors of fall,
Found myself where dogs and cats share drinks, the lack of light in the bar makes me warm,
Gravity once again, misplaced itself, I've become a regular to toilet seat covers and porcelain princesses,
Misused words misconstrued, large arms leave large bruises, feet dragged behind me, i feel alive again with the taste of floor,
Flames consume the street, fueled by gas cans of insanity and heart, and I stride amongst animals, back to what I know, all fours,
Discovered ease for one last time in the company of cold bricks and narrow streets, no use in conflicting with my bodies petition to curl up, it goes black again,
Up again, this time it's warm, heads got the blues, liver aint too happy to see me, towers of dirty blankets, pillows, I love you,
Vision comes to, worst of morning, how it registers again with every break of sunlight, the craving of eyes and the well kept lawn of empty sheets I wake up to,

Currently Listening To: The Stooges