Sunday, June 27, 2010

sketches to my sweetheart, the drunk

i would like to go to that little house on Rembert street
and lie in the grass
like he used to.
i would stare out into the sky and pray to him...
or maybe there would be silence.
this year would erase itself and it would be 1995
and he would be there beside me, smiling-with his eyes closed.

you see, i see it.
i want to believe this.
but he's not here anymore
but his music allows him to live forever.

art is fucking heavy man.
it can do that for people.

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