Puppet Me

At ghost time when whispers are sweeping dreams into webs, the puppet sits slumped on the smoky grey couch flipping through the faded edge pages of an old photo album. His eyes are skimming unfinished memories & secrets but a bit of thirst is burning on the tip of my fantasizing tongue.

Went back in time to that cold night in Hunt’s backyard when everyone was destroyed n drunk and that guy wore his cowboy hat while my friend played the drums and the noise all by herself. This was in the much warmer garage and then someone took a picture of Beck, Les, Karen n Me sitting outside.

Ed proudly showed us his inclinations emblazoned on his chest and Llerena’s mind was corruptedly gone.

Reaching for a beer now - maybe a roaming thought or a conclusion to be.

I’m judging it’s time to call it a day by the sounds of dawn leaning away from a night already in repose.

Imitations & innocence

Inventions & disguise.

1995

Victor Millan

Time’s Killing You

I was laying cross-ways on my bed in my white boxers one end of week morning feeling
Over run; taking a deep breath w/my head reeling madly and slightly over the edge.

Over the edge of the bed as well.

The ceiling fan was on the spin cycle racing the devil with my eyes trying to shake loose
That ghost and its complications off its weary brown fins; and I exhaustedly let go of my next
Breath and everything was suddenly still w/the exception of the heavy pulsing in my veins.

Everything was frozen in motion.

The city was quiet for a moment. Everyone’s confessions held with my exhale.

Everyone was caught in a mid-blink in the middle of their burdens or their passions that devotedly thrill. The Birds were hovering outside en route to where they will w/a warm autumn breeze holding Their calibrated dive and I threw the currents to my god ~

And I craniated.

“How will you make your millions young man?

 How will you make it?”

Beware! says my witch ~

Time’s killing you

And the clock is on time’s side.

1994

Victor Millan