Ethnic Kiss

The steely grip of December weakens in the new atmosphere. My tunnel is almost finished and I can get out of here, metaphorically. The Hawks didn't finish the west coast trip with the glory I'd hoped but I'll get behind this team. Random base elements conjoin and the future becomes a little more clear. Clarity can be damn frightening, though, and I wear my darkest shades by night. Surprises somehow find me at every turn, even though I seem to be sitting still and not turning at all. I just go with the flow.

I accept what may
Like most any day
Five minutes for paint
Cowboys lose to Saints
The movie finished
My strength diminished
The holiday pipe
Rekindles the hype
Five minutes a pop
Or pay me to stop
A few golden rings
To buy back my wings

Yes, speak to me holidays. Show me the colors of 1967 and a drafty house on Atlanta Road in Marietta. A convertible Falcon, white with white top, sits in the driveway. Today the spot can't support the memories. The best bridges are

built of stone, it would appear. So the witches walk among us and that's a fair trade. Some day I'll construct the map of my memory and spend eternity getting lost there, even if that sounds gay. Maybe I've already done that, minus the gay part. That's right ladies, pure West.