what a mess (part 2)

those beautiful memories
the erotic sunset
the desolation of an arizona near dusk
i long again for Barstow and a quick shot across the land without reason
now the basic beauty seems stripped and no one laughs
the screaming is doubled up in the house and in my mind
i find it so comforting that one day none of this will matter
these plain old complexities running down hill to meet you in your pine box

well, the decades have skated past thus far and with a bit of luck i'll be long burned out and forgotten but for the tongues of those my insignificant words remebered now roll off

theres a place i miss so immensely that i cant even bring myself to tell you about it...that and i can't remember being there
i think that i have cried in the past couple of days over some such silliness that left my life so hollow feeling
this isn't a poem
it isn't a story it isn't anything creative
i hope that i'm dumb sometimes and i just don't see the shit

Einstein said that imagination is more important that intelligence
i believe him
but i also imagine that i'm careening along a narrow desert road at 110 mph wanting to be struck down by the hand of the truck driving god approaching from over the up coming hill... to die in this abysmal dry heat of a blistering afternoons paranoia and not have to worry about the beauty being eroded away by what i'm told is the way things are

fuck you
i'm dead too and i have no one to drink a toast to my death with
fuck this
the days get sooooo short around here whenever i think that the sun is my dearest friend

i enjoyed surfing this summer
what is wrong with me
nothing i'm fine
and you ?