Ask iAN * Motor Oil Rainbows
The bed i slept in as a little boy
heaped onto the pyre
the slow licking flames that swallow our names into less than little mountains blown from ashtrays at dive-bars into alleyways...
All my lil' cowboys and indians buried in their sleepy little childhood graves in dead playmate's sold away yards of yesteryears...they've gone away like i will...it doesn't matter if your last name is Smith or Sinatra...you are truly
forgotten anyway the dice roll...people can only care for so long when the life they live is so very
The horses on old television shows...were ate by dogs that wound up on television two years later...
I do my damnedest to hold on...remember the scent of my father's neck...the scent of his hair when i hugged him goodbye...and now i can hardly see my boots in this fucked up deep blue starlight...
I try to see my sister's hands...and all i remember is the dirt we dug
I aim to see my mother's belongings...and it's all cancer bed fears and blurry photo albums
I trace the years backwards
and wind up with two empty palms
that look like graffiti hooves
stick handed ghost
these were my childhood friends
the deadeye rabbit
the shadow past the window
the cemetery heart
my very childhood friends
I cut my teeth and scalded my hands on coffin handles
breathing wet candle mass wax
In the coca cola garage
with the phantom welder eyes
chevron oil stains
menstrual cramps & bone breaking vice clamps
the key to victory is a hard earned good looking
corpse in a coffin shaped jewelbox
When you are young
you feel clean
a few years later
you see you were just getting pissed on
as you laughed with flowers in your mouth
your blood dumber than a hubcap
dancing around in your piss storm
and melting smiths records
what a joke
Everything goes into a box
tax return papers
dead dog and cat collars
and eventually your own overworked and cock swollen soul
and why do you think the wheel was created?
To keep on rolling...at all cost...don't look back...unless you want to waste more of your time...that is running out right now as you read this dumb pome...
Jesus in my black heart
and a dogheaded buckknife in my ashes
dead to the days of girls and rollerskates
dead to the ride
rainbows in motor oil pools...
we were really something....
yes we were.... .* When we were beyond our graveshttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JTPDFhCfv8