What The Blue Teenager Sold

Something the blue teenager sold you/left you high and dry, priceless,/ you, with the memory of evil meals,/and your handcrafted tattoo./A thing amounting to ceaseless drops of rain,/by some sleight of hand;/the blue teenager sold you something:/a cause for wonder,a sign of good luck as you loitered in halls,/pursued thunder in whitewashed stalls./All the while, your mouth brays a daily routine/scores long settled, matters finished,/a big part of your tired disguise./But you’ve said little, since you’re thinking/every area is like mine, lush dewy park expanse,/glow of a neon pizza sign./I gauge your walk/ you’re marching behind,/ remembering the gait of pacer/you learned many years ago./Something the blue teenager sold you/in his everlovin’ silent night/the flame of live music,the sound of sighs./Your wick still burns;and something’s telling me/you wrote those books, /to Feed the Machine/entombed, merciless,/a waking fate weeping at length./He put a crease in your head,/sold you all you ever knew/in the way of your destiny/a pair of sticks crossed, /on the hallway exit/wouldn’t aggravate you more./What the dial light says,/illumined and green, in the dark/ the shadowy light of the last call,/you dialed the unknown number/ found on the wall.

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