day 24

"There’s a smell here that stands my hairs on end
Dog hair in the heater, gas pumps and cedar
And jackknifes on the nine
and seabirds choked on fishing line.."

I am not sure where I am these days. Day 24 and it's pretty much a done dealio. I have washed my hands of it and am pressing on. And just like all kicked habits, you wonder what in the fuck you were thinking to begin with. The ticker-- it's a delicate organ full of feeling that when shot through with holes you have no choice but to lie there and bleed or harden it again and lose a little more idealism about love, relationships, happiness, truth, trust.

"Clouds say hush but the chainsaws mush on to Custer and Columbia
Salty tentacles shrink in the sun but the red tide is over
The mollusks they have won

There’s a smell here of gravel and cigarettes lit
When the match made them sweet
When the engine turned over and beat up our street.."

Sigh. I will never be okay. I will never be good enough. This is the way it is. How many years has it been now? There is no more changing after trying like hell to change. This is it. This is all there is.

"Oh, that was the day
To remember

I remember because of the fires that leapt
From the caves of the things that have not happened yet
When I think of it now they smell to me quite sinister

I want to go back and die at the drive in
Die before strangers can say
I hate the rain
I hate the rain..."