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What Their Melody Foretells.

Updated on January 23, 2010


What Their Melody Foretells.


The wind chimes

moan their sad litany,
sounding much like

the tin plated passion

 of illicit lovers in

dark motel rooms,
solid tubes banging

against hollow ones
blown by the

forces of fate.

Thin walls carry

the sounds of

love forbidden,
like the tightly

stretched skin

of a drum.

In separate

rooms alone,
homelier men

far from home
turn down their T.V.'s
and listen to what they
have long been

absent from.

Wishing, longing,

tossing and turning
on strange sheets

scented not with perfume
but with the faint

odors of bleach.

Just down the road,

another moan rises,
after the hollow tube

of a 44 magnum,
ejaculates a different

kind of passion.
Leaving breathless

a 22 year old,
in the dust behind

a 7-11 counter,
as a thief of dreams

empties the

cash register

and the soul
of an innocent victim.

Just another

Saturday night
in Any-town U.S.A.
as backyard decorations
clash like the

bells of hell,
composing the

chaotic songs
of mankind who

are anything but.





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