Face on

Arm bar and nonsense. we are wet. we are tired. we are spent in cheap paint huffing artists chasing fads.

Bandanas and the ironic slant that passes for dancing these days.

Goddamn have i grown so swift and old?

So tired of the postured scenes. the pedestals of listless genius wasting time in neighboring caves while i still mark my heart for days when men shared their mania with brutes and stains.

I want to be, somehow.

I want to fall back on arms like i did when this place was home.

Decayed.

The Crystal Cat.mp3

Never go

I miss the art of negro streets. old ghosts shuddering the dawn.

Madmen, really.

Angels when i was young and raised the city in whiskey songs. ashes for the piano. stinking, wild and drunk.

Reunite On Ice.mp3