Mistaking east for west,
watching beautiful heat spray through the dangerous windows,
and watching like a film-man,
knowing I’m watched for being a gospel death-magnet idealist.
Now I have realized that time means genuinely nothing.
She sings and many men must know the older truth,
sinking sad lovers’ truths that bulk up our strange humanness.
Where do we live?
I will tell you;
any place and a fake time full of the hardest perfumes of memory.
Sunken into hidden passion like feeling for a criminal?
And what shall one suggest to a hopeless man with gray-beau brains,
corrected to a sad and perfect false-life that will never compare
to the alcohol riddled oasis of an old heart.
Can’t go home, can’t change my port…
Would I change to your bad tone and the recollection of such improper affection?
Yes so sadly, I’d sabotage it all for the taste of a flashing beast of your salvation.