bugler at Jericho
‘My heart is a ghost town.’ Adam Lambert
hopped a freight just before Love ran me outa town;
got off at the edge of forever.
stowed my frayed, patched-up duffle in a dive, then went
out to walk the lonely streets, ‘cause the bars never close
on the boulevard of broken dreams.
the whiskey is quick to wrap a condescending arm around
me, say you’re with a friend now, it’ll be okay. a ragged
line of shot glasses, dead & dying, have me hunched over
the bar, wondering what her name is, that sultry dame a
few stools down. till she kinda meanders into a goodnight
waltz with some other lover.
it almost makes me wish my woman was here, but I slam
that door shut. there are things a man is afraid to say to a
woman, until she’s in him so deep, she’s like shrapnel.
when I glance at the jukebox, there is Julie London, crying
a river. I can play that song over & over, so it sticks to me
like a kiss; I can blow my brains out with it.
…her postcard finally caught up with me six weeks after she
wrote it. ‘I’ve cried too much for you, darlin’, & I haven’t stopped.
I heard you dressing quietly to leave in the middle of the night,
but I wouldn’t beg you to stay. if you had someplace that’s
maybe better than right here, with me, you had to go there to
find out that it’s not. maybe things are good for you & maybe
not. but if you still love me, come home.’
Baby, you don’t even know…