and the cat started barking...

and the birds started laughing...

and the walls were all covered with insects

that crawled in formation;

spelling out things that I can't mention here…

in the wilds of san francisco neo-beat delusion

wandering bar to bar; drunk & distorted

weekend mission hipsters

stumble past the antique stores and bookshops

eyes turned blind

to the shopping carts and junkies piled in the doorways

like everyone here I'm damaged goods…

street-corner preacher tries to save my soul...

but i'm too cold for holiness

and I'd get sick of all the loneliness...

(the devil never lets me drink alone…)

and who am I to question fallen angels

when they sing so beautifully at 120 decibels,

chords ripped on steel strings?

-dunne
copyright 2006