"the heavy king"

"the heavy king"

after a long lunch by jake kilroy.

with too many lovers, not enough money,

and no excuses, a man finally considered l.a.

it had been in his nerves the whole time,

mugging classical music,

caroling street graffiti,

making waste of youth.

it cracked sharp teeth

and bled light to attract

the dreamers and the bingers,

offering a home away from home

when all they needed was a map and a blessing.

what good is the pulse
if it stumbles, a bent clock
with hands flagging down anything resembling a passing christ?

jesus, why did we retell all these stories
if they were to mutate into idioms?

is that how it happens?
is that how we all become the patron saints of the afterlife?

yeah, yeah, carve up a grave in reincarnation bulk weight

and tell yourself you'll avoid the madness and kill the cancer next time.

surely, these hands were constructed
by Mother Nature or Lord Supernatural

for more than holding prayer beads
and patting the backs of local desperate monks.

i was wild once!

i was the battering ram of night.

i was the only blanket in a lover's house.

i was clothes on the floor, drugs in the system, blood unsure of source.

and now i'm the last king of land so barren you couldn't plant a foot.

every merchant elsewhere, all churches gone, nobody home but crows.

but here we are waiting to buy into anything that resembles the past.