Saturday December 28th 2002 Lost In Fun City
A Poem to pass the time in Hell…
Ambling aching waiting
endless Pac Man circles,
gorilla sounds of mechanized tedium echoing behind tin ears, speakers of nothing in hollow tapp tapp against a back drop of long gone glowing night.
Waiting in patience of solitary godhead and a vague pain in a place unnamable and unreachable by language, measured in dog years– fleas biting, burrowing in the raw flea bitten ass of now.
Sitting tough in all night diner cloaked in the garb of black leather illusion an untouchable armor of neon cool hipster death. A long horror show journey within.
Dragging the polluted rivers of consciousness with the diligent and persistent footfalls of an old time dime novel detective. Joe Sleuth, master Dick, dick twitching like an overturned Kafka cockroach at the sound unheard of whispered femininity, perfumed promises, shadowy empty eyes. Lies.
The foul tug of an angry child wailing down empty corridors forever
Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2010.
Best. Hit the spot.