it’s
that moment when you look at the empties
and
know why the rum is always gone
stumble
out onto the sidewalk
avoid
the camera’s that are filming
the
last dance of los angeles
start
singing kris kristofferson’s
the
pilgrim, chapter 33
and
realize you are a cliché
stop,
look at the city swirling
think
about a book you read
the
history of genocide
and
mumble,
“there
is no god, no good
and
no guarantee”
“i’m
sick of these thoughts”
you
say
light
a smoke
shake
it off
walk
pass
another bar
i
think l.a. has a couple
and
the house band is playing
“barely
out of tuesday”
stop
realize
you’ve passed this place before
sometime
ago
heard
them play this before
and
it’s still a really bad cover
of
a really great song
think
about the song’s co-writer
courtney
cox
and
that paparazzi snapshot
of
her on the beach
then
chuckle a little
when
you think
that
there are people
who
think you actually
have
deep thoughts
got
a royalty check today
realized
how much i had earned
versus
how much the publisher made
then
had to remind myself
that
books on a shelf
does
not exclude me
from
what i always sing
about
there being no one
to
make sure i get my due
though
if this were true
i
shudder to think
what
a god would
say
i truly deserve
so
i cash my checks
sign
the bar tab
hail
a cab
then
apologize to the driver
go
into the bar
and
sing along with the band,
“barely
out of tuesday
seen
seven hours of wednesday”
***
No comments:
Post a Comment