Thanks Rochelle for hosting and Sandra for your picture. All links can be found here.
Nestled up to the rusty ornate art work they sipped on Cabernet and Merlot. They rustled with a sense of importance, the limo waiting. Simple fine lines, pleasures they could not feel concealed behind the work escaped them.
“Spectacular” they said.
“That sounds Grand.”
Arc-white eyeballs, cracked red finger tips they did not think about.
They loved the work, the chains, the lockets, the devices, the propane, the trinket perched on the porch. They poured more wine.
The breeze blew hot across the vineyards, the wind of conversation skimmed the surface.
“It’s called Marley’s Harley.”
Going to build a fire today
And let it burn until the moon goes up
Until the smores melt on my chin
The wind blows the cold of winter away
Going to watch the TV as the kids fade into another day of school
As midnight comes around and all the sounds trickle
Into the melting Ice of Sunday libations, peace
The partaking of the blood of Christ
The holy host
The holy shit he is a loaded host
Sweets at the end of the night
Thanks Rochelle for hosting and thank you Scott for the picture. All links can be found here.
Every neighborhood has a spot to hang out. A generic name for a specific spot, the tree, the pit, the dock….
I see a Dodge Dart, teeth collapsing in
Girls dancing to Southern Rock, someone standing on the hood
Overalls and hand me downs, a fist full of loving
The kind of hands that would collapse a man
Make him weep and see god, apologize
That he stood
On the wrong rod.
I see me
All In The Family
The Tart Cart
The Earth shoe
A strange LSD hue
The coming of greed
I see the tree,
The pit, the dock
Playing kick the can
On the block
Japs and jocks