Green Means Go

I never wanted to care when the light turns red. I always have that choice that I never seem to take, when I drive and drive and I pull another slim outta the glove compartment and I drive some more, puffing away and watching the smoke rise and then I see the light. It is yellow, smirking at me like I have no balls and it knows it no matter how many stogs I smoke and lines I blow.

"Betcha can't run right on through me."

I smirk back but that doesn't do shit to wipe the taunting yellow glow off that face. I push down harder and harder to go faster and faster and breathe softer until the recessant pounding against the walls of my skull is nothing but the soft beats of a heart that I instantaneously believe has beat faster before. I'm alive to say it.

My heart starts going pretty crazy just thinking about all of it while stopped at the red with one hand firmly dedicated to the wheel. I watch some guy in an F150 as he takes an extra long drag and I think, "that smoke sure is pretty."

That yellow sure did want me.
That last shot of blow did feel damn good.
That fucker did have really good hands.

Nostalgia won't have the time to hit once the light hands me some fresh excuses.




Green means go.

Gold Dust

It makes the pocketwatch far from
My pocket
Tick against my thigh
At the type of speed
My heartbeat misses. It's like
The rain can't be wrong today
If it's dropping gold for me
From the hands of a man
Birthed in foreign fields--
Expelled from a womb
That still tells her wives' tales
In terms of pasos and siestas.
It's "adios" to that
For the man
Who now loans me the dollar
So I forget how to nap--
Forget how to eat in a world
Taking it too easy
In a world
That won't stop moving
In a world
Bound to a clock
From some world
That can't tell when time's up.
I choose to roll in gold dust
In a world
Where I can't be golden.