Nostalg-Ticked

Led and left before this November night sky...

Chemistry vie heart and soul
dissolves into a less volatile mix
as one more cold, unfixed shadow
is driven deep below this southern
cityscape of buzzing neon hornets
feast and shit skeletonized dreams;
moths fumbling e'er upward
toward some new Shang Gri La

As this machine, which had once
carried me along stands silent--
unchained, and still ready to move.

The roads, streets and avenues
which led us here, as if drawn
to the ends of the world,
are only remembered
for the hours and days spent
blurring between those imaginary lines
of what should and should not be

I am addicted
to nicotine and solitude,
while playing
by the smooth bourbon rules
stirs the old devils in bitter saxophone.
Muszak is only a head-piece--
soothing the savage
with a remix of heart and soul mysticism
sweetened with a the seduction of warmth,
as sensual as firelight,
beckons dreams,
amidst the glowering embers
of memorae--
and whatever fresh fuel
I may find within
to burn...

"Catch me baby, I am falling"...

It takes some pretty bizarre
twists and bends in your days
and ways to catch on to a Hank Locklin
tune, shambling out
from the shadowy way back whens.
From a time when you
a little frequently accused
of being a good boy.

The formula of shutting up, out and off;
and staying the hell out of the way
doesn't seem to have quite the kick
for everyone else as it once did.
They say only good little boys
get to go to Heaven,
but it just might be someone
else's turn to play the Harlequin.

Whiskey makes me angry,
vodka makes me horny--
Bourbon makes for
just another calm stroll through
of whatever happens next,
I will just kick up my boots
and play c'est la vie.

The problem here just may be
that I rarely ever drink anymore.

Youthful misadventures aside,
while I do not intend
to give anyone a slide-show
of my past sins--
the ride along this road
has been dry,
aside from a little rain.

The stars are full of shit...

We all can survive the night.
As long as boots are still moving,
the wheels still turning,
sirens flashing, horns blowing...

It seems that
no one is ever the best
for very long.
This new city and me
really don't get along.

It's a haven of wants
and needs
that don't even have to be
real to exist.
Its got a punk-tooth
in the back of its head,
that is aching for
something that you
can only happen
once in a lifetime.

It's gone baby, let it go.
I have had about all of
the nostalgia that I can
handle for one night.

We've already rode this ride;
honked the horns, rang the bells
and played with all of the lights
and sounds of some woe-begone fix
you may need to kick
through to the
make-it-wow-again factory.

As the masquerade of now
continues to try to live
through some-when else.
You cannot respend the time
you've already invested
to get you where you are.

Uley