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Present Tense Priest

Sweet sound devil of our Thursday sacrilege
Lure me, lost in this crowd of turpentine misadventures
Away from the impending, bright-poison shackles of morning
Movement, pulsing, movement
Under the fade dream fantasy of your hologram-halo altar
Stainglass that once refracted light on our imperfections
Distorted now, dissuaded
Manipulated to breathe new light on us sinners
Still we stand, bounce, gyrate
To exalt newfound, everchanging
Impermanent deities

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Self-serving Night-guest

Distorted ghost of poet past found me in my dreaming
Offering none of the insight my soft breath begged for
Instead he came to further rattle the walls
Shake my evening psyche and do his dance
Selfish really,
I harbored the night-crazed vagabond
Spouting his peculiarities to echo in my head
All the while wondering if somehow he knew the answer,
What next?
But his eccentricity served as wicked distraction
And he escaped behind the white shock of daylight
Bringing me back to the grease stained corduroys, right where I left them

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No Goodbyes

Staring into the empty room above me
Time-tortured guitar expands to fill the space
Resounding in me
Ancient electricity tuned to the touch of night
Breathing slowly
Vibrating its nostalgia in today
And the myth of mortality
gods caressing strings
Impossible to silence
As hours of epiphany exude
The pain and pleasure of sound
It’s a prayer, a memory
A don’t forget me
It’s one hero’s eternal last stand
Tonight, it’s Jimi

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Draining Magic by the Hour

And where now is that glint of evening magic
That I chased beyond midnight
Wondering what would happen here
I thought I saw it flicker beyond the glass city portraits hanging flush against my dark painted walls
But that was hours ago now
When dreams seemed attainable
Where clenched eyes and deep breathes still held promise
Not now,
Now I blink away the hours
Cast too far into today to salvage last night’s sleep
Clawing at my covers trying to regain some of the sand that slipped away
Inevitably I turn to you,
My unwanted companion
Etching my thoughts for the ink to follow
Whispering of another peace,
that never came to fruition

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Sweet-swept City

Beyond the dark alley
And musky street
Vacant building
And scream screeching muffler,
Past the cacophonous can kicked debris
The moon sweet night
whispers its admiration
In the resilience,
The patient faith in these rusted gutters
And calm, creaking fire-escape anthems
There’s a heart buried beneath this pavement,
A throbbing energy that rips through this city
Begging for creations of art, anarchy
Madness and the soft taste of Tuesday night dreams
Anyone can see the blackness, the grim depth of cracked and cold urban caverns
But those who perfectly catch the dim light,
Painting these figures like giants upon brownstone
How can they, how can we, forget about the indomitable soul of this concrete landscape?

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Gripping At Minutes

There’s something elusive,
and consuming
in this fall night
as the city rots to winter
Time wasting with it
Nothing is happening, but everything is moving quickly
I’m slipping further into the evening
days, months
And there’s a quiet engine
Idling here,
urging me to do the same
For a minute, I oblige
Plant my feet and hold fast to the moment
It doesn’t last, as time ticks I’m tossed
sent hurtling,
forward again
Into the night, the future
And it’s already tomorrow

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Loud Looming

Quiet for a summer night
Yet the air seems poised to explode
One spark of youthful energy
A shriek released from drunken lips
And all illusions of solitude crumble with the hopes for a peaceful evening
Normally I am the one to light the match in this gas stench city
Though tonight feels different
The sweet, vulnerable dusk begs to perch softly on the rooftops, undisturbed by vice filled voices,
And inhale the sacred silence
Thunder is on the horizon
Waiting to boom its human sound against these cracking city walls
Not now,
Not yet…

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