Chianti Hall
A ghoulish mid-December finger
circles the outskirts of a crystal short glass
the waves pulverize
the glacier rocks
and the wind rides
the vapors of good hopes.
My muscles are connected
to flawed black bones
like the hollow frame
of the house you grew up in
that burned down the summer
after you got pist off.
The memory string still hinges
the tip of a thought
to a forgetful boy.
The very same bones
are survived by a highway of rush hour
poison
constantly fueling the beating drum
that beats so fast
when words are said
in a certain pitch
by a certain voice
my eyes roll back
and the strobe light
doesnt stop.
I wake
up.
under a screaming fan
naked
on a vomit covered mess.
like a "L" tipped over
legs propped up on
an unforgiving bed
god only knows
how many nights i slept in foreign cities
refugee from my own head.
You count sheep
to take you to far off places.
I am far off places
and i count backwards from
ten
to start breathing
under chest compressions.
In and out
of focus
is the night life
smoke dazed
past midnight escapes
to the courts
where the lights stay on
for me.
I stay alive.
by eating
the regrets
and sins i've committed
and all's fair
love and equal
hate and the dream view
looking through a keyhole
just to get the silhouette
of the noose around your pillow
when an arm cranes over your neck
under the breath
of someone who curses
your every second
existence.
...
circles the outskirts of a crystal short glass
the waves pulverize
the glacier rocks
and the wind rides
the vapors of good hopes.
My muscles are connected
to flawed black bones
like the hollow frame
of the house you grew up in
that burned down the summer
after you got pist off.
The memory string still hinges
the tip of a thought
to a forgetful boy.
The very same bones
are survived by a highway of rush hour
poison
constantly fueling the beating drum
that beats so fast
when words are said
in a certain pitch
by a certain voice
my eyes roll back
and the strobe light
doesnt stop.
I wake
up.
under a screaming fan
naked
on a vomit covered mess.
like a "L" tipped over
legs propped up on
an unforgiving bed
god only knows
how many nights i slept in foreign cities
refugee from my own head.
You count sheep
to take you to far off places.
I am far off places
and i count backwards from
ten
to start breathing
under chest compressions.
In and out
of focus
is the night life
smoke dazed
past midnight escapes
to the courts
where the lights stay on
for me.
I stay alive.
by eating
the regrets
and sins i've committed
and all's fair
love and equal
hate and the dream view
looking through a keyhole
just to get the silhouette
of the noose around your pillow
when an arm cranes over your neck
under the breath
of someone who curses
your every second
existence.
...
----
Artist Notes:
I wrote half of this on the back of some napkin in some shitty place that was converted
into a nightclub which signaled me to vomit on the floor
which apparently is code for the late night flare
of a ship that was probably more fortunate at getting its passengers home.
I chase more wine against the acid that eats my teeth
and i wounder
will i ever be the sort of thing
that erodes
at the brain branch
of those who have a past with me.
Friend or lover a like
will i ever be the sort of thing
that will create a cavity
in a being
and be the one piece that never made a whole lot of piece
a whole
I woke up the next morning
an hour ago
and i filled in the blanks
here.
-H.G.
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