Slam It Baby

         He needed a story to write along the lines of wrinkled papers with a dead ball point pen. He watched as she reached over and over for some stale bottle like a skipping CD in moment after moment. And in the expression from my lips to gain notoriety just fueled the aggression as she whispered, there’s more to life. But that came as a false slogan tacked to bill boards and t shirts. I handed love out on cards in streets where children stood to pass the day away in complaints and plan thought and passionate song. But as my hand engulfed her shoulder I let it all slide and think of yesterday as if yesterday was today and every other day wasn’t worth living because yesterday, was better. And when she wouldn’t say a word and I couldn’t hold a word in the parched lips I ate in sludge every night trying to fathom an intellectual conversation we locked eyes and I looked away.

         Sex lived as a little bald man in a ball park playing every Sunday. My little brother met the man who god said was real in a heartbeat he fell to his knees and moved the earth with his bare hands. My jacket collar rose to block the winter cold on my chin and I stood ten feet away to watch the spectacle in earnest. This was a world for Sam and TJ and Katie and holding on was never so hard, holding on to the single lifestyle taught by school systems and alley dogs wanting a blow. Land in front of you stretched for miles but you saw but one dead grass and leaves as hope, hope was living in a shack. The only way to make life real is to escape it, the only power is materialism; now I’m scared and humbled.

         Humiliated to the point where I decide to jump, this bandwagon of ex cons and nationalists was riding too fast and in the end it was the world that was moving and everything in its right mind would stand still and listen. Because they were right, and I don’t know how this all held together in a letter I once wrote you, I posted and sent my fingers away to find that they were wooden and made good fire wood to keep you warm. No, I wasn’t hurt by the occurring trends but held by the implications that your life, is going nowhere and I wondered if it was because of mine. My own concern really is my own self defying my own aspirations to organize fictional truths out of paper mache to disguise as symphonies I put on websites. And so bragging he went on and on to say how long he had been there, the first one. The first.

         I was the first to see the light at the end of the tunnel plagiarized lines said to me and there and then he died on his death bed leaving only his body for us to devour and recycle. A little girl in Nebraska jump roped with him in her hands everyday and there was the finale of his life and the epitome where he could have realized that this simplicity was the most beauty he could ever have. But it wasn’t simple in effect and in tune it wrought havoc on the jocks and the cheerleaders and the punks and the metal heads and ska kids and scene kids and the new generation of youth left it behind to fight a war against the system that ruined all their lives and broke their dead families and turned them towards drugs living on the street and listening to how Jen died so sudden. How there was so much more ahead in life and it makes you wonder, why it was taken for granted so senselessly and it made you want your wasted beauty back. In the moral hell following the night we sit and gather ourselves in the shadows of our rooms and coffee shops with early morning dreams of never doing it again.