Sunday, September 30, 2012

No Relief

This is way better than living in the van

I really don't know what more I can do to get a comment from the three Russian spambots who regularly visit my blog.

Never Been To Spain...or Greece...or Tibet

How many more years do I need to sing this song before I get to Spain? I'm not talking about the Ibiza-body-shots-of-Vodka Spain but the rural Spain where live Fascist bombs still act as landmarks on the market road and kids still hold doors open for old women.


Webs of crooked lies deceive our inner hero
the wounds of past trespasses lock doors to freedom
freedom belabors the inclimate military
reality is a broken catchphrase for meat manufacturers
cattle withdraw cash from temples of fraud
we are all double agents who have had our
memories erased.
Television tries to implant new memories of heroic deeds
but finds the spot occupied by dusty trauma

I can write the saddest lines tonight
because the rain washes into rivers of mute erosion
the glad rags of our lonely love affair
are burned in acrid despair
but the embers burn red and the ashes fertilize new seeds
sewn by new lovers inventing the language again and again
holding hands holding hearts

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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.