baronvonsauna's profile

The rivers are drying. They are replaced by avenues littered with the butts of cheap cigars. Black with stones, flowing, as the ocean but not into it, the pulse runs inland. To plains and cities hewed into the landscape by architects. It's riddled with souls, dry, searching for deep water. Choosing stars over streetlights because distance is absurd and comforting. The bloodstreams are all infected with dark, rich mud. The kind that escapes and dilutes into water. I choose to be concentrated. ...

I watched the moon brand midnight sky, a perfect mystery. It drummed a steady back-beat neath a star-shine melody. Abyss took form of ghastly strings, it hummed harmony. Dark earth was bass to groove amidst all silence's debris. One star then shot a solo bronzed the dark and fell back dim. I, with my voice gave life to what I saw and felt within. Men sing the blues when you go cold. So I was bold, I sang them loud. I was proud and uncontrolled, boasted my wistful news. Love, if you could be h...

I'm climbing a mountain, too slow to keep up with my companion. I'm dragged along fifty feet behind, by a tether of pride. My mind juxtaposes this trail with countless trails of my past. Around each bend I expect to drink both foreign and familiar sights, mixed to some anomalous concoction. Slow, syrupy, hard to breathe and shifting, there is a molten river in my throat. It's hard to breathe but it has to be because I'm climbing a mountain. And like a woman, a mountain must be as stubborn as ...

I decide to scope out what surrounds me and absorb what needs to stick. My sea-theme rooms, my mirrored blues, my country grace emanate outwards, pulse with the a/c, marry the loneliness can't leave if you don't say. I bite my tongue, imprison the words, cloister them in the tower of my mind. They'll be topically satisfied like aristocrats sentenced to a life of social gatherings. This frees me to revel in the sad shy melodies that only play in thin blue air, so they can weave smoothly in and...

From where I sit I can hear a father's voice straining above the marching band. His naive son has no idea that he is scaring the hell out of his father. The horns roar like elephants. The drums thrash like thunder. The woodwinds stab like lightning cracks. Sweat gathers on everyone like condensation on drinks. Endless milling about, cooked meats, smoke and flies. Everyone I see is laughing and smiling except for a well-dressed perturbed wife and that sad desperate father with lighthouse eyes ...