Kristen de Kline #100 Friday on my mind

I
Lawless Way, Friday afternoon    a man with hollow bones smelling of white sugar
breath     fries up bacon and eggs on a hot plate rigged by

fire-proof electrical cords   thrown around like a figure 8     steals
power off the grid    like squatting dole-days hockshops   digging

Saturday Heralds cans of lentils baked beans out of metal food skips
every tin past the Use By date     we drink we dance we sing we fight we

run away     from men in uniforms, numbers hidden    regulation batons swinging
boisterously    their high-beam torches strobing in the darkness like sparklers on

Guy Fawke's night    glowing lights chase us down DEAD END lanes   barking
Alsatians charge haphazardly in the wrong direction  

scrape together enough cash for a bullet and a jug of beer at The Zetland
sing along to red, red wine     on the jukebox

tear apart a blue, blue heart:

stay close to me red,
     red wine

II
my house still smells of teenage boys     their trails of grease meander across
stainless steel and granite surfaces    macaroni cheese re-heated for the third

time    boy's laughter reverberates from one floor to another    wraps me like a soft, mink
blanket that got lost in the move   a vague sense streaks past    one day this will be behind

me     a whiff of possibility     in the eye of the storm      ugly stones out the back yard  
rocks weeds concrete slabs     an ash tray spills out stubbed butts and murky

rain water     we look up at the stars     floundering like little fish, shaking
the boys handpick the Velvets and Nico, that big yellow banana on the cover:
Sunday morning restless feeling wasted years early dawning Sunday morning

I sit with the boys and leaf through books on Dada Surrealism punk art       do I lose time
or does time kill me?     talk about snow shovels   hat-racks   melting clocks   old vinyls

does the sun set
too soon?

somebody scratches an old Jam vinyl with a needle    it bumps stutters cuts
to the bone   a pocket full of pretty green   darkness hangs off

a pitched roof     threatens to jump and end it all     time stretches  
talk about Jerry Rubin the Yippies the Chelsea Hotel chapbooks zines anarchy in the UK the Velvets Sunday morning pale blue eyes

in the distance you can hear time scratching your Velvet vinyl
like a Medieval torture instrument
the sun sets
too     soon
darkness
hangs
someone
jumps