Drunken Ghosts

Last night,
Around eleven,
As I walked through gravelled streets
I came to pause
Outside appartments
And saw the ghosts
Of you and me.

And, while awake,
  Dreamt I was sleeping
While the two, they said to me,

"Well, kid, you're such a fuck-up!
A fucked up abberation!"
But they're wrong--
I'm just a part of the
  Clay Pigeon Generation:
Soaring through the air
I'm drunk--
And waiting to get blown to pieces.
And, in time, we won't remember,
  Any of each other's faces.

In time, when I'm asleep,
You're gonna dream that I'm awake
And that I asked you to come walk with me
Beside the shallow lake--
Where we could drown all our regrets
And mingle with those drunken ghosts.
But then you'll find that I have woken up
And you're no better off.

Ten years will pass in seconds
While we dwell on a couple months
Where the real estate's expensive
  And my bank account is one...
buck short to pay the heat bill
And the shooting range is cold
And we've grown tired of taking potshots;
Our generation's growing old...

And shot and sold--
--And bought, I'm told
When the hell...
  did we get so old?

I asked our ghosts but they don't know.

I asked our ghosts but they don't know.

 

(February 16, 2010)