Wrong Side of Indifference

Painfully fucking drab,

this place -

With Sky flat-ironed and stretched over everything like an old dirty sheet - a faded out milkblue and yellowed at the edges and in corners. The whiskey and the sunlight - it's all watered down and gritty, like you took a long drink of day from a dirty glass.

It gets in your eyes, this place. A slow burnt in film till the world begins to tarnish - like the old folks and their kitchen walls all stained up in cigarette smoke and grease....Godluvem.

And the trees here, they don't know what to do. They're all just waitin, mindlessly, like the line at the Methadone clinic leaned up on the sky bare skinned and crooked, one after the other after the other after the other. The business is conducted at the obligatory minimum, with menial half-hearted gestures that, somehow, hurry you along from nowhere to no thing.

Everything in this place, everything, it all seems to pour itself out so quickly, too quickly, moving in nervous quaking motions like Embarrassments rush-away to forget himself, or slinking around corners with eyes weighted down to floor by Regret, and her hoping she won't be recognized.

And the taste of this place. The taste, its so thin -

So thin I'm afraid

i wont ever remember you at all.