The Last Theater / An Old Friend

written dizzy by jake kilroy.
Originally written August 26, 2008.

And the rockets fell on the cineplex,
while you were dazzling your wall;
scraping your beloved instruments,
and melting them down to nothing at all;
paralleling the paralyzing dizzy spell,
that you struck up in one twirling stir;
some night when you wrestled restless,
straggling around in some lazy purr.

And the movies flickered on the bombs,
colors dissolving into the army code;
you stayed in your robe, a bottle deep,
wasting the stars in the new motherload;
your weekend song loud in white shirts,
without dress shoes and good coats;
a new binge that you found ruined inside,
as with all that sparkles new and floats.

And the popcorn machines caught fire,
while you were at home writing the wreck;
digging the graves of the dead skin print,
storing your papers in a stiff card deck;
your body ached in the spiraling wind,
as the windows banged and you lost time;
for weeks it'd been bad to be of regret,
the rickety porch harrowed an old chime.

And the locals watched the theater collapse,
the last ash finding solace on a pretty face;
violins could be heard, coughing was faint,
they kept their eyes closed, keeping pace;
as poetry's a market of writers burning alive,
the entire town sitting down to lose their grip;
with no last stand to keep a good man up,
and no strength in his mouth to prevent a slip.

And the smoke glowed like a black rose,
nobody slept well that night, all rusty and rusted;
swinging fingers down like the gold rush dig,
marching their bodies, a final parade lusted;
but the town was still there from the old valley fair,
but the sound was still there from the old valley fair,
one more hand on the wall to pray,
one more band in the hall to play.