the house that time forgot, but mike and i remember

paint pealed and blown about a small room in a house no quite settled
theres a hint of sorrow floating cautious in the air
smells of old newsprint and sweat
the abandoned clothes and dishes scattered perfectly from room to room
giving it that lived in look

carpets rolled up like reposesed sod
the plywood floors soft and swollen
sag with age and experience

posters, faded torn and hanging
reminicent of some long forgotten concert hall
not much left in the fridge
just a box of baking soda no longer fit to do it it's job
i wonder if the light still works

the television turned on it's side ...in a room overflowing with old racing forms and fadded rambling on various note pads... gives the impression that whatever he had been watching was disapointing enough to leave without paking a dam thing

maybe he was pissed about the finale of dallas

who the fuck shot jr, i dont know, but he sure wasn't happy about it