dawson street

“dawson street.”

There is a neon sign reflecting on the window
My mind is moving fast but I’m driving so slow
Past the police car that’s speeding by the stop sign
Just to stop me one more time
From trying to get to the tiny room
That’s almost just out of sight
Except you can hear those innocent disciples
Who sing to the sinners through the smoky cheap colored Christmas lights.


I don’t know what’s worse.
Her denim ass straddling my leg or her pool stick in my face?
I just know of someone to give my last cigarette to in hopes of spreading that cancer just so that he can have a taste
Of sweet nicotine that runs so sweetly through his veins
But That’s horrible because he doesn’t even smoke
So I take that back
Even though my feelings are still the same.


Each set sails by
covered by the mouths of sinners in the rain
Occasionally the fluid movements pass through
An original piece of driftwood
But then we sin again – listening for teardrops
Drip, dripping from the leaky sky onto the hood of his van
Each drip & each tear, we hear
Is as beautiful as the graffiti on the back room walls
So dark that we cannot even feel our names
Sinners envious & curious to share their worst originals
And we applaud just the same.
.

c.mchale.081503