Mind Tavern

In this seaside mortuary most lives begin with a swoon, when one of those mountain lasses come across a hardened goon. These rag stitched cocoons cover the frigid grasp of the sea upon their hearts. There was a small shrine next to the church; both Gods sat one day and from the saline clay wrote her chronicles. They talk to me about her in a drawing; beautiful, kind, grateful, all that could be called good. We like to plead before time, but we never know what to say; because I wouldn't remember how rats chirped when they nibbled at loneliness or how fingers withered but never stopped brushing tears. The truth is, she belonged to a cremated future, and she took me with it where sandcastles slept. Absence without a reason, and only having hearsay to fill it is perhaps a pain I've grown accustomed. I know not to reach into empty coconuts where crabs would bite me, or swim endlessly until a ravine relieves me of breathing. But, sometimes when the elders say that the monsoon i

Don't keep me in your mind, Instead the flickers of the sky In your eye, on the way to a shrine, Beside the telephone line. Let the king speak Through a mongrel's beak And havoc wreak upon a unchecked freak, Now a car stops in the parking lot Her touches the tyres jot. Stubborn kids on mountains tall Drink the miner's wine, to deaths they fall, But did they ask the coaly gasp Of the amber laughs in an anxious grasp. The drawers flung in the burning sun With a heart that mites couldn't turn And even though the train didn't show Letters fall off pigeons, dangle in the snow And then we leave a light off for the neon crow. Over time, our songs morph into this reiteration of busted roofs and the flying wheels above the cable lines. Sometimes, an ambitious plastic bag latches onto the clothesline and as your wish to set it free often comes at a price. Human love is eternally divisible, given to the most unsuspecting soul on the mass transit or the gre