There’s a blue ball in the gutter
The willows weep amidst the oaks
Drunk street sweepers spreading trash in the air
Abandoned porch swings on hundred year old houses
Blackstrap molasses dripping from that window seal

The Post office is flooded with lost letters of love
The PTA is full of divorced housewives giving the acronym new meaning
The cathedral on 2nd street has been empty
for a decade
The minister can only preach on Sunday’s playing poker sipping on whiskey

Faded hopscotch in rundown school yards
Old man Beetle dressed to the nines for a walk to the donut shop
Laughing girls in pigtails tossing a coin in the fountain
That woman there sneaking a smoke behind the doctors office
What is that strange smell in the air

The asphalt has pot holes screaming murder
Stop signs blushing like lovers on the beach
57’ Chevy is chasing the rabid dog around the square
Rhinestone glasses waitress wins lottery goes broke in sixty seconds
And the pond on Summersby Lane has fish crooning Dean Martin

A police chase down Main st
Same story same time last week
Dirty little secrets of hit it and quit it
Who’s that the preachers wife driving on the wrong side of the street
It’s poison from the power plant on the edge of town

The crab apple tree has leaked mystique
On the bottom of Lake Plateau lives six dead men
And Butchers Field has dancing scarecrows
And the Barber Shop on 3rd Street has chatter that never ends

Peculiar feeling here
The sign at the homeless shelter has been blinking less for years
That house on the corner a double murder suicide
Swept under the rug in the police chiefs house
Don’t mind me I’m just the messenger

Crime rates doubled downtown
Not a dime or a fade penny on the streets
Too many ex lovers chugging medicine at Stella’s Bar
Not enough landscapes or rivers on this side of town
No one here sits on a porch gazing at the stars
Too many staring at the end of a bottle


Braeden – Italics

Stella – Non Italics

This was a fun collaboration with Stella! Check out her blog if you haven’t!

Stranded on euthanasia street

A number of casualties walk

on the chalk lines around the

thousands of the bloodless scarecrows

Weeds and black roses grow

in gardens of screeches

A morbid hawk hovers the emptiness

barking of a dog reverberates

Eyelids are glued to mailboxes

A mindless city stuck in the trenches

Watching television from the grave

Chuckling as coffins close shut

Numbness and laughter blend

Mothers cauterized by loneliness

Fathers gravitate to only lust

Avoiding love at all cost

Mice crawling from pillow cases

Skeletons playing poker Indian style

in front of the rusted closets

Using marrow as golden chips

Despair and poverty shook hands

Pull the exasperating plug

on any side of this hellacious town

Take a sip of cyanide before crossing

this sharp and dying town

Promenading around the vintage square

Marching up and down like a soldier

Preserving the gloomy kingdom

The absolute and dreary monarch

Glancing up at the gnarling sultan

Toying with the saddened jesters

As they stare out the tear jerking windows

Mimes crawling outside the gates

in front of the gory and sopping river

Stumbling citizens speak like dragons

Clans of violence raid innocent homes

Barking dogs howling at the dying moon

Chopped off heads laying in ditches

Limbs shambling to the sunrise

A division between absurdity and insanity

Born in the thick of Chardonnay

Sweetness is just a flavor in a fifty mile radius

Dingy peasants begging for a light instead of

bread

Inhaling the essence of bloodstains

Waking up in a bath of blush

Stuck in misery and fallen pieces

Like a dream shivering in maroon

Caves of turmoil splatter illness

An unknown species walks in the dark

Spewing words like tall weeds

Cutting through rocks with a monotone voice

Using only four syllable words

Monsters tall as skyscrapers touching

the tip of cerulean clouds

Gripping winds with hands as large as boulders

Roaming wicked jungles and grudged mountains

Over twenty thousand characters gliding on

soiled clay

Surrounded by a lightning cage

Seeking a path to return their lost world

Unknown to how they arrived in Herston


Check out my books!

A population of stains

Dismembered statues and walking lanterns

Crying skyscrapers

Hollow laughter and piles of rubble

A borough of nocturnals

Flickering neon lights

Thousands bathing in sorrow

Wallowing in self pity

Frozen to cross the border

Roads of misfortune spread like disease

Shaking perplexity

An atmosphere of hardships

Colors of funk whip around the stop lights

Fumes travel like month old asparagus

Bleach and detergent don’t sit well

Dead bodies buried in ancient basements

Conversations stall in the damp corner

Book shelves wail in the dens

Rats scatter in the shape of the branch

A town polluted with synchronized lies

Smaller than a ball point pen

Memorized every decaying neighbor

The stench has dispersed for miles

Trembling demographics

Stretched out fuzzy landscapes

Distorted mountains clench

Sounds desensitized and flutter

A mangled government howls

Ministers pleading with statues

Arguments swing from branch

to branch like a diabolical monkey

Sentiments sealed in a box

Hungover debates swallowing

OxyContin and sleeping pills

Insomniacs chatting with graffiti

between Sinister Lane and 5th Street

Cigarette smoke flies like a bird

and shadows dance with loneliness

Laughter turns stale like a cracker

Cynics and pessimists fall in love

Innocence is submerged in flames

A place of cracks and haze

Wanderers and drifters circle


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Smiles turn frail and sapphire

Grins carrying cobalt bullets

Wrestling with a pocket of change

Standing in front of a phone booth

Eight hundred miles away from truth

Love took a freight train to misery

No emergency brake on this passage

Faster than a speed of light

Lost in all of the choices and indecision

Eight hundred miles away from lies

Wearing a royal trench coat of pain

Feeling like a thousand pounds

Too frozen and solid to remove

Still standing in front of a phone booth

Eight hundred miles away from her

Debating and contemplating

Fumbling with the quarters

Should I call her from Indigo