my peso and my silver cross

| March 2nd, 1995

break on through the moon light . . . come on and try to catch me as i run and jump the fences of my youth that divided my heart into so many cold dark rooms . . . with balls of human beings lurching in the corners…i hide myself from them. they want me. they hunt me down. they know i hold the key to sanity in my retched hand and they try to steal it from me . . . why?

they turn the dogs loose so i run to an old abandoned house that was hollowed out to be a tree to hide the walnuts in but they found it there with you and me…they run but they won’t let me go, no – they must have their turn at me and at my mortality . . . if i give it all to them they leave . . . hand them the lead peso, buy my way through . . . salvation for spare change and a heart that won’t quit pumpin’ . . . to live for a machine the can only see when the light of day has run for it’s own fate . . .

but i can’t – that peso’s mine dammit.   i worked for it.   i put it in the jar with the photograph of kennedy.

they try to take from me what was never really mine to begin with . . . this key, this god damn peso and my silver cross . . . if that’s all it’s about
then take the damn things . . . it’s worth more to me to feel the pavement crunch under my feet . . . so you take my salvation and give it to the devil
for all i care . . . stuff that silver cross down his fuckin’ throat . . . take the key and find a lock . . . try to find the way in . . . i don’t think there’s
a door behind this wall . . .

but you bring him here before me if he wants me for his pink flamingos and dante nursery rhymes . . . i’ll show him where the stakes are drawn and where to take my blood . . . straight to the vendor at the commissions office. spread it out before him and show him where the paisley turns to deeper shades of blue and how salvation can be found in the cerulean lines the cross and divide time . . .

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