Waxing about Girls

We’re oscillating wildly while we fossilize in space
Oscar Wilde’s disappearing face chasing a ghost
through time and wasted satori growling and grousing
about the swings of tide and ego and pride while
we flicker like lambent flames searching for moths
holding on to rotting fence posts in deserts outposts
drinking whiskey and tripping daisies lazy afternoons
Eighteen years old wasting bottles of Boones
philosophizing about the moon and waxing about girls
in bedrooms and boys in basketball shorts I rode
a broken horse into a deserted town just to taste the
dark blood on the ground and scrounge for tinsel
to pin to my crown with a proper grin and a bottle of gin
my heart fades fast in the collapsing afternoon
summer thunderstorm I come home and
rip the doorknob off…


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