Forty Bucks This Afternoon

Back in town to sell it all off. Running out of metaphors for clean slates and heart breaks. So can we promise to cut to the chase and lay it all out for one another? On the walk home the asphalt had the distinct smell of bus stops and skinned knees. A re-run of years before, just sprint for home.

Tree lined streets in a neighborhood full of phone-it-in friends. It's all like calling in an air strike from miles away. Dropping bombs and banking left. I swear on this blank slate to find the flat land if you'll just promise to send the chopper... just get us out of here.

This flare from my heart should burst through the clouds. Promise you'll make them aware... we're still here.

Orange smoke as freedom in an open field. I've seen the burners of the rescue jets going in the opposite direction too many times.

Autumn Eyes

There are times when her words felt like going home. A machine gun heart, firing at anything that moves. Walls leaning in to listen. Three.One.Two....

Open wound smiles blister in the winds off of Lake Michigan. Making melodies out of sad song mornings. Her skin, like moth wings fell to pieces amongst my fingertips. The only real conversations took place between her hands and my skin.

Tonight I took it all back, you included. Bomb scares on new blocks, this city shuts down in perfection.

Format Your Hearts

Now that I've been made new, I'm no longer my own. To you I can not promise that I won't fall, but between the flick of the switch and the start of your dreams I promise to remain.

Looking back, I'm pretty sure that this has all been prepared with exact precision, much like the wrinkles near your wrist while you sleep. No more naps in fighter planes and submarines. Baby worlds that are no longer at war.

Watching for meteor showers to appear as a million Magnificent Miles across the sky. When she said to "look out for love" did you take it as a warning, or a request? Me too.

Our Own Hotel Chevalier

Fell asleep on your chest and dreamt of the heart beneath. Woke up in a fog to what I'm sure was the first time that I heard Life whisper, "this is what you get."

My head delayed, and dust formed around all of the times I have loved... it was Death that appeared next, standing in the opposite corner... rolling his own tobacco.

I considered acting quickly to bury hope beneath the floorboards, but Life assured me to "go easy."

Life is always the flexible one.

Death on the other hand, never missing an appointment, disappeared into the shadows as the sirens below began to howl.

And while we lay here, the light in our hearts growing dimmer by the day... the smoke and gentle breeze in the battlefield beyond this bedroom remains. Letting us know that they're both still here.

Last Nights Best Hopes

Painting apotropaic eyes upon this ghostly vessel. My mind is warm and open late. Got off the train at Diversey just to see the Brewster Building in the moonlight.

Air raids in the afternoon had us running towards the fortress in our hearts. All we knew was to seal our dreams in jars, never forgetting to poke holes.

Stay away from the tracks because I'm pretty sure that death rides a horse... and that a six-shooter mixed with a 10 year battle is a recipe for disaster.