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Standing in the rain, the lightning flashes between the white petal bloom of the dogwoods lining the 2am Vampire Country streets and I'm rolling electric. Tonight was all titties and thunder, drunken tattooed ladies making out with each other in the cigarette haze while we pitched each other fever dreams as projects to be all over chilled whiskey. Ran shotgun with Teddy Bear to attend a birthday bar hop across L5P. Rock Star royalty abound - Amber and Bob Dracula and Katya - sitting throned around the chaos. Pretty knees pressed against mine under the bar table, drunken eyes linger, and body heat generating the promise of sweet frictions. Got Magpie drunk, but remained diplomatically aloof. In the process remember a dozen stories never old and began to burn up with need to lay down a little word.
In the rain time falls different, its drops splatter against stubble semi-shaved head and bomber jacket in fleeting now and drives me back to the same spot decades ago. Shaved head and bomber jacket me - less fat and wrinkles of face - jacked up on my physique and drunk goth nibbling vampire kisses down the neck. I bullshited her something fierce thanks to Bud's help, got her thinking I'm a published poet with a three book deal and Christ, lady, how I'd love to write a little prose about you if given the right inspiration. Briefly, in her eyes, under the light of the lie, I shine all palooka laureate and in twenty minutes my face will fall between her lap in her boyfriend's car.
"He'll know." She warns.
"After me they always do." I smile all bravado and bluff, a joker in a wolf pack of wildcards.
She purses lips, she rolls eyes, she starts the car, she wears no panties under the 1990s night and her hand on the back of my neck enlightens me to the peace that only the hunting dog knows as it drags me down to a fishnet promise.
Manifest, reappear, back in the rain of now as Teddy Bear tells Camera Angel about a script we worked on years ago, eager to rope her into a future project. Drunk-ish. She laughs, he laughs, I smoke my cigarette watching the lightning through the dogwood petals bloom - Samurai Weather this - and remember standing out in a monsoon in boot camp. Sky pouring like we were doing basic in Vietnam. RTC blue. Push-up dizzy. Five mile run fatigued with each breath coming on a fast burn as a uniformed fat man with a red rope looped around the shoulder screams at me - "Babalon, I know you got more in you, boy. Now drop and give me another fifty!"
Now I'm lucky if I can muster 40 on a good day. But that's the way it goes. Sometimes you think the initiation has long passed, sometimes you think the drowning waters of the baptism have receded, sometimes you think the burn of the fire that drives you has begun to scab over.
And then you watch the lightning through petals and the titties and the thunder shake the world around you before realizing this life has yet to witness your best hidden under a quiet smirk.
In the rain time falls different, its drops splatter against stubble semi-shaved head and bomber jacket in fleeting now and drives me back to the same spot decades ago. Shaved head and bomber jacket me - less fat and wrinkles of face - jacked up on my physique and drunk goth nibbling vampire kisses down the neck. I bullshited her something fierce thanks to Bud's help, got her thinking I'm a published poet with a three book deal and Christ, lady, how I'd love to write a little prose about you if given the right inspiration. Briefly, in her eyes, under the light of the lie, I shine all palooka laureate and in twenty minutes my face will fall between her lap in her boyfriend's car.
"He'll know." She warns.
"After me they always do." I smile all bravado and bluff, a joker in a wolf pack of wildcards.
She purses lips, she rolls eyes, she starts the car, she wears no panties under the 1990s night and her hand on the back of my neck enlightens me to the peace that only the hunting dog knows as it drags me down to a fishnet promise.
Manifest, reappear, back in the rain of now as Teddy Bear tells Camera Angel about a script we worked on years ago, eager to rope her into a future project. Drunk-ish. She laughs, he laughs, I smoke my cigarette watching the lightning through the dogwood petals bloom - Samurai Weather this - and remember standing out in a monsoon in boot camp. Sky pouring like we were doing basic in Vietnam. RTC blue. Push-up dizzy. Five mile run fatigued with each breath coming on a fast burn as a uniformed fat man with a red rope looped around the shoulder screams at me - "Babalon, I know you got more in you, boy. Now drop and give me another fifty!"
Now I'm lucky if I can muster 40 on a good day. But that's the way it goes. Sometimes you think the initiation has long passed, sometimes you think the drowning waters of the baptism have receded, sometimes you think the burn of the fire that drives you has begun to scab over.
And then you watch the lightning through petals and the titties and the thunder shake the world around you before realizing this life has yet to witness your best hidden under a quiet smirk.
