Post
by mnaz » January 3rd, 2010, 5:29 pm
roll a six lane hangover
to the old hangars and shot-up factories
down the vines from hangar nine, the boys
used to wire their mammoth pratt & whitneys
wipe oil from their brows, feed screaming raptors
we won the war, built some highways
gas pumps, roadhouses, neon swoop,
jet age swing, runways and factories
lots of factories, roll those six lanes
oil-slicked over twenty rotted rail spurs
desert rising rusted on peeled billboards
broken barstools, past the Atomic-a-Go-Go,
the old coffee shop, taped vinyl, cracked formica
bacon grease and black joe, grainy reception,
old ad jingles, tangible, pre-digital grime.
he witnessed the fateful battle
when physics fell to hordes of circuits
forced underground, binary, something changed
music was shinier, vibration more petrified
pain a little less real to touch
he can't put his finger on it
sorry, just riffin' on the "urban desert badlands" thing.
not sure why.. stole some of this from my old pomes.
don't mind me...
gotta run, y'all have yer fun..