Living life on tuna cans, cartoon strips and roadside colors absorbed by monochrome eyes. Twirling hair, vision obstructed by the kinesis of stationary landscapes, vertical lines stretching against the wind. Streamlined thoughts lost in translation and the jangle and pop of your ramshackle grace. Hooting of trains, the shape of your mouth left on half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich and compact discs paperweights on disconnected songs written after last night's telephone conversation. Caught in the middle of stiff pretexts , in the process of coming undone, camera shutters and bare legs throwing shadows while they dance pointlessly on mosaic floors.
Stub your cigs on the wall, make an ugly graffiti with the scorched out shards of nicotine days. Or lie in soft diffused light, lassitude never looked more sensuous and memory's focal distortions shall never find a more beautiful you. And even when the night is lost, I shall love the infant like I loved the man. And I the same maverick who hitchhiked back home in a getaway car.
