Saturday, August 28, 2010

Tent City Nearly Faded As My Jeans














By Andres David Lopez

Bonaroo left its mark exploding in my eyelid

the tents of sleep and sick tangled in rows and rows of dust and dirty

homes tonight for vaporized hides
we’re refugees sonically
mattress sea saw when I’m asleep
but wake up hot with sun when she arrives

and the heat waves

This port-o-lette is done. It’s stunk into the ground

coolers become my dining couch

the lantern lights my angry spouse

mushrooms burst out of bags alive
they are reeking inside

knocking my gravity paralyzed

turning my stomach on its side
with the taste of monster in my mouth
and its wild ways
so my monster says

Heaven found on my way out
highway rest stops to seek
out organisms to
flush out heaven found
on my way out
I heard the rock and drove away

And with a spark all of the lights in centeroo started racing

through fields of mud and up the stages through the bodies
ankle deep and filthy

they fight to hold notes not heard everyday
attached to songs they can’t wash away

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