The Land Is Full Of Shade.

It's quiet on the grassy hill. All of the trees have lost their leaves. No shade to be found in this land of shady people. The blues are sung from the top of the hill. Heavy effects are put over the vocals. It's an endless conversation. A blinding sun hides behind the weeds. And it's the same ol' blues riff I've been playing for ages. Coming straight from the soul. It's been done before, or so they say. The harmonies remind of the Rolling Stones. From the early days. The pause in the song. Just when you think it's over, the splash of the crash reminds you that you're still alive. But not for long. Because it all happens in the blink of a lizard's eye. Like those times when the snake is slithering across the white marble floor. Veins of gray. It's some sort of smooth stone. I sometimes hear the hawk calling me home. Flying in that circular motion, looking for me. Past the pines, among the needles. But I'm not around. So she sends the helicopters at night. Their spotlights beam down, searching for my shadow. It has disappeared, along with the sunlight. I can feel them coming, those dull October days, when the heat is perfectly hidden behind the beautifully miserable sky. I'm hidden under the roof an apartment building from the '20s. Almost as old as my ancestors. But not quite. Oh, here come those harmonies again. "An endless verse; an endless curse; from the kiss that you left me." Like it was yesterday, eh? Here come those salty water tears. Microwave dinners. A living space that is rarely clean. Barely there. "Her voice was soft and cool; her eyes were clear and bright; but she's not there." Some things are better off dead. Not to be resurrected for a few dollars. Even if it brings people joy. Memories aren't meant to be remembered. They die once they're gone. That's why I don't take pictures. No need to remember the past: the living or the dead. Yes, another rambling thought. They tend to come from time to time. When the moment strikes. A second later it's lost, falling through the cracks of my blind mind. "I am an American aquarium drinker." Where's the six-pack when you need it? The scotch is never around. Another night of sleeping sober. They happen too often these days. "What was I thinking when I said it didn't hurt?"