deepundergroundpoetry.com

A Broken Down Battered Backroad Eulogy

I sit here trying to remember the last time
I thought about God
But it seemed like I never thought about God before
And I thought about God
The way some people think of their fathers
I thought about God
And asked God to protect me
But I wasnít sure why I was asking God for that
I know I thank God everyday
For giving me strength energy speed endurance
The mantra of the last mile the last lap
Towards a directionless home
God--sitting on my dresser
Waiting to be summoned up
When the foodís wrapped up
Dogs fed
And Iím undressed
In front of the mirror
Praying my last mile
To last a few more
But when your heart slows down
And you got no one left to kid
The hurt comes clean
And the glamourís stripped away
All going down the drain
The mascara the rouge the lip paint
All masks that want a last mile
And naked before an image
That stares back
Is not a body
But God saying sleep now
You can push your mile tomorrow

I used to think in terms of jazz
Things like
Fightin jazz
Exiled jazz
Enraged jazz
Striking jazz
Jobless jazz
Now its become something much worse
Hungry jazz
Thatís where the voice lives
And you donít know it
Until youíre in a trance
And you pound your fist into your guts
As if youíre done
You had it
Youíre gone
Make it stop make it stop

That was the jazz I searched for
And then I got it
And now I regret it

But Christ, youíre here--
I remember when we rode through these states
Breathless on winded border towns corrupted by their aged inhabitants
Getting double crossed
And hot for a one night stand
And Iím talking to you
And youíre talking to me
So we sit there shocked
Holed up in some joint in the middle of nowhere
Trying to get out of the rain
And what you got to offer is
A temper three shots of whiskey and a book of old mythologies
And I got the cross of my blood
Around my neck
Hanging there like a noose
Readied to be tied up strung up hung up with the last checkout keys
And you talk of the last time you were young
Before the rain came down
How youíd take a ride down the streets
In mid-America deadpanning
Your story in a jacked-up engine
Straight into Tiresias
That was your dream you say
Finding what was gonna happen
And not avoidin it
Just crashin in it

So here we are in this vision
And Iíve got no money
Iím broke
And Iím stranded at a crossroads with you
And youíre penniless
Youíre in my dream
And Iím waiting for you to wake me up
I cant see the edge of the country
But youíre walking there in this inferno world no matter what
And Iíll go with you if no one else does
Because youíve gave me what I want
The shock of it all

Iíve seen your past hung up on the wall
When Duluth wasnít enough
When the California coast nearly strangled your voice
When New York wasnít gonna save you again
When youíre down
When youíre up
When youíre singing
And when your not
Youíre there in the mind
Calling the shots
Taking the hits with the angels

And this grief
Drops the mind
With your fallen angel
Like the lost cinder of your youth
Whose ember burns the fire out of your sorrows
extincting itself into the muddled gray
Of the Crow River

The songs you play
ďWoke up this morning feeling blue/ seen a good-looking gal can I make love with you/singing hey hey baby I got blood in my eyes for youĒ
Are not in the streets that you walked
When hell stretched your hands
But in the edged rain of your fatherís country
The cold north that breathes the ancient
Wetness of a flooded mythology
Thinking good people, good people,
Donít do this
ďHey hey baby I got blood in my eyes for you/ donít care what in the world you doĒ
What youíre getting at is not what I want to see
And Iím hurt
But you say nothing beats down on the road
So youíre packing up
Leaving town
And Iím stuck here
You want me to make up my mind
Itís either here or there
ďHey hey baby I got blood in my eyes for you/ donít care what in the world you doĒ

All this shit
About making the right choices is done for
It wasnít about two sides
But what was right for the situation
It wasnít about back talk
But about the sickness you say
That droughts out the spirit

But these memories are full of smog
Shrouded in the dew of your exiled north
That dampens your call
With the grit of a howled Ezekiel

And behind your face
Through the rain
The face that I thought was the rain
The face staring back at me in the same way
Thinking about the same thing
About the same song
The same long road
The same skin on skin
And thatís what it is skin is skin
And thatís maybe what I fear
Seeing the history of my skin
In all its pain and grief
Touchin me
So many times I couldnít even count it if I could
But the history of your skin
Got trapped in Godís tears
Falling down on your land
Flooding the gateway
To your final resting place
Where you blow in a wind that burns as it blows
And bastard you for thunderstorms and neon signs
For angels that you thought were fallen
And for philosophies that you thought were fucked from day one
Bastard you who thought you could outlive them all
For painting the shit out of your dreams
Strumming the guitar
And for thinking that youíre God
Bastard you who nearly killed yourself over men
Who knocked out your teeth
And for women who screwed you over
And for getting caught in your mind
When you crashed in Ď89
With a mangled hand drunk hand sick hand tortured hand fucked hand
And powered now by your lost voice of electricity
And grittin your teeth
With the outlaw battered feet of Odysseus
You come home
And love this body
A broken vessel
Of a sacred tomb
Shattered
By whiskey sonnets

I remember there were two days
When I starved myself
To know what it was like
To be a child of these woods
Broken child
Starving
Hungry in the rain
And dusted by two days
Of grief that shouldered
Your tears from creatured wounds
Crawlin over my heartbeat
Becoming slower and slower and slower
I remember the belief that I could conquer starvation
So I got up and ran as far and as fast as I could
Because I thought I could run away from it
But it found me
And you found me
You saw my eyes loose focus
And you rescued me from that rain

Then you chained me down to your canvas
Telling me that there is no such thing as exile in the north country
And that people donít want you to be free
That youíre free to invent your life
You chained me down to that canvas
And said
Remember that
whispellc20
Written by whispellc20 (THE LEGEND)
Published
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