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