Sepia Tone GraffitiA Poem by TkessThe sky cracks open like a bullwhip and I was taking nothin’ but lip from the night before Trying to find my footing in this three ring circus side show Ice Capades Nothing but clowns and bystanders on these streets tonight Just like my check bouncing, rubber necking to get their fill of the horrors of this world All you have to do is look out your bedroom window on any given night And my coat full of receipts from nights I don’t remember In cities I can’t name to keep all the parties involved safe and sound In their little bungalows I have a better chance of seeing Jesus walk through this door Than to see you do the same, but the thought keeps me walking It’s colder than a shotgun gut shot b***h Labrador with 6 pups sucking On dried out teats draggin’ an empty trap in the dead of winter In a goddamn blizzard with no hope, no hat and all the shoulda’s and woulda’s And coulda’s ringing in my ears And cursing all the beers I had the night before or Wishing I had at least a few more to stave off this hangover And my rents going up another 50 dollars I saw an old man pulling a rickshaw with one wheel missing And I thought I would ask him for a ride ‘cause it looked like He knew a thing or two about walking in circles and never really Coming up to speed And I’m 1, 2, 3, 4 sheets to the wind Blowing through the holes in my jeans, but I didn’t buy them this way, my holes were made With dumb luck and dumber decisions The sky cracks like a bullwhip And all the cars in the parking lot are growling at me And the streetlights look like spotlights And I’m glad you’re gone, but I wish you were here And my head is splitting I think I may lose my mind And I’m still taking lip from the night before Sepia tone graffiti; old timey debauchery Somehow seems more whimsical then menacing And the light sneaking through the stained glass Makes this place look like a kaleidoscope And the stars like fireworks bursting a beautiful Yellow-blue impression And the roads like rivers carrying everyone to the End of the line End of the world Heat from storm drain, steam like a tea kettle train whistle Blowing it all to hell Sirens singing the night song like a lullaby Through secret concrete twilight gardens The moon is a bright oasis lighting our way Through this concrete maze as it rises up Like some old Irish novel The frost on the cars sheen like lacquer This abstract canvas covered with black and blues There’s no gold at the end of these gasoline rainbows As the sky cracks open like a bullwhip © 2011 TkessFeatured Review
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Added on November 5, 2011Last Updated on November 6, 2011 Tags: Life AuthorTkessPittsburgh, PAAboutWhen I first joined this site I provided a very vague profile of who I am. So, I figured I would elaborate a bit more on what makes me, me. I am 30 years old. For the past 7 ½ years I was a me.. more..Writing
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