Arison Cain

She could never be as close as she appears to.
I gotta wonder if she sees me in her rear view.
And so I’ll go where I hope the road disappears to.
I know, you know, I know, you know I hear you.

Spesh to Death

It always starts with a phone call,
and a frozen proposal to hold on
from a rum soaked tongue that you wrote off,
dial tone corroded, droning ghost talk.

Drowning, road block, detour, car crash,
median bleeds in the street light, start back.
Camel Fats bloat and erode through the hard pack.
Finally arrive, dead eye from the bar staff.

Single malt albatrosses,
nauseous, sucking at the faucet. Lost in
exhaustion, caught up in collusions of truth and
the fruitless pursuit of a beautiful youth,

who, through ruses and pseudonyms moved you,
and grew to imbued the milieu you were rooted in
with coups, revolutions, and blues.
Who’s got answers? Who’s got proof?

Who’s got an address? Who’s got a line?
Who’s got conviction and who’s gonna dime?
Who’s gonna roll up their sleeves, get beastly
and try to beat the Nietzsche outta you completely?

Bleeding by the liter and obliterating scenery,
incinerating any inner civil plea for reasoning.
Vehemently fleeing, leaving every piece you broke.
Lips so close you can taste her smoke.

Arison Cain

I could never be as close as I appear to.
She’s gotta wonder if I see her in my rear view.
And so I’ll go where I hope the road disappears to.
You know, I know, you know, I know I hear you.

It always ends with a slow song
and a prolonged note like so long
hope, like no I don’t promote any
notions of love choked cut throat throes.

So apropos that these photographs snapped
could capture the passion of having you
tactfully crawl right back to me. What scandal?
We handled the whole goddamn thing masterfully.

Two doubles of velvet straight
to celebrate several devilish traits,
and revel in peddling malevolent trades,
inevitably leveling pendulum weights,

to settle the last loose venomous thread.
One sentiment left, and we put it to bed.
A gentleman’s threats are as good as his enemy’s
debts. - - Correct?

Who are you lying for? Who’d you protect?
What are you crying for? What’d you expect?
Who’s gonna roll up the street discreetly,
and leave me serene in the feverous evening?

Retreating from the treasonous repeater that you’re squeezing,
every piece of me believing the uneasiness is fleeting.
Last kiss from a lipstick smeared cigarette.
Barrel so close I can taste its breath.

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  5. tat2ed-hart said: I read for a moment and no deny i had a thought..but then read some more to realize i couldnt stop till the end.i love it! its relate-able to the extreme and its something i would love to rewrite to have forever.
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