oldmansfiles: (Default)
( Dec. 9th, 2011 05:40 pm)
There are two places to find Jesus in this town
One the rural church
Convinced of its immortality in songs and restrictive
Skirts, longest hair and too many children
Two the hip little hideaway
Convinced of its superiority in coded songs and restrictive
Pants, shaggiest hair and too many childish remarks

When they pass each other in the street
Disciples of two kitschy Jesuses
They miss the mirrors reflected in each other's eyes
And keep walking
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oldmansfiles: (Default)
( Nov. 7th, 2011 03:49 am)
Every crooked beat of my heart
Strains against the faint guitar and tuneless voice

I live in the hallowed gourd at the center of town
Still while the vines of strangers' lives burrow,
Pretending they are a larger garden of stone and steel

I count; not footsteps nor conquests, instead
Feeble pulses as the night swallows the last voices
My veins are highways for humming strings
No longer quite in tune with the coming frost

Every crooked beat warns.
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