dead dreams dance dangerously near

i remember holding pink vinyl

double album

pink world

planet p project

 

to this day

i have yet to meet

someone who knows

what i’m talking about

 

i wore out diamond needles

on that turn table

listening

inspired

 

to create something so original

use the beauty of art

to make the world a better place

 

believe me

often i wonder

where did things go wrong

how did the dark streets of decay

become my swan song

 

i know of abandoned carousels

but i don’t rebuild them

making the world more beautiful

from the restoration

like david carradine did

 

i write ichabod on my arm

take another swig

as i sit on another sidewalk

someone offers me a dollar

 

is this the hint of my descent?

 

i wouldn’t know how to make it 1984

headphones, me on the floor

listening to a pink world coming down

it’s three a.m.

then and now

 

but the hour is the only thing that remains

 

i use to think salvation was to be devoid

devoid of self and the trappings of this world

that i could make meaning out of mud

if i unleashed the compassion within

 

but does sharing a 40 ounce

with a homeless man

amount to charity?

equate me with a saint?

 

and i am not devoid

of self or the trappings of this world

my muscles strain like atlas

as i carry the weight of my selfishness

upon my shoulders

 

a young man of beliefs

became a common thief

stealing moments to make moments matter

but never materialized

 

i’m not even plagiarized

though i thought my imitation

would lead to leavings

of beauty

a better world then i found it

 

but

i’m caught in the act of cold react

after awhile it’s matter of fact

 

and this sunken sidewalk

three a.m.

slurring betraying my attempts

to sound sober

is the cost of one who is lost

with memories of what was intended

why was the bottle befriended?

am i correct that nothing matters

or did a young man’s mission misfire?

answers un-acquired

hurt so badly that i no longer

have the heart to help

 

were my attempts at beauty

subjected to the subjective

completely rejected?

and i didn’t have the strength

to endure the length

of what was said beauty should be

 

so i cocooned

but never bloomed

into a free flitting butterfly

 

i just spy with my little eye

the place where you won’t be

so i can be free

 

not like buddha under the tree

just me

lying for my liberty

that your condemnation doesn’t matter

because you are so ignorant

to believe that anything matters

 

only problem is

i stopped creating

and began this mental masturbating

believe me there is nothing beautiful

where everything is either black

or at best gray

on these dark streets of decay

 

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